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THE MAN WHO LIKES 
MEXICO 




A Mexican charro 



THE MAN WHO LIKES 
MEXICO 



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THE SPIRITED CHRONICLE OF 
ADVENTUROUS WANDERINGS IN 
MEXICAN HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 



v-/ 



BY 



{S*<.<a^ WALLACE GILLPATRICK 



ILL USTRA TED "iviTH PHOTOGRAPHS 







NEW YORK 
THE CENTURY CO. 

1911 



IZ 



.Q4-^ 



Copyright, 191 1, by 
The Century Co. 



Published, October, tgzz 




CU2<J77G0 






TO MY MEXICAN FRIENDS FROM 
WHOM I HAVE RECEIVED MUCH 
KINDNESS THIS BOOK IS GRATE- 
FULLY DEDICATED. 

THE AUTHOR. 



FOREWORD 

During my residence in Mexico City I made the ac- 
quaintance of a young officer in the Mexican army, Colo- 
nel Victor H , who was subsequently on mission in 

the United States and in Europe. I was introduced to 
him as " The Man Who Likes Mexico." 

" If that is so," he said in English, " then I like you." 
And the acquaintance, thus begun, developed into an 
enduring friendship. 

Americans who visit Mexico will not fail to discover 
much that is likable; and it seems only just to remark 
first on what is likable, deferring adverse comment until 
a careful observation of life and conditions shall have 
rendered intelhgent criticism possible. For the rest, it 
is undeniable that we Americans are more favorably 
disposed towards the foreign visitor, who likes our coun- 
try, than towards the one who begins by finding fault 
with us. 

Mexico is proud of her civilization and of her culture ; 
of her builders, painters, sculptors, musicians and men 
of letters. Among her early writers, she is proud of 
such names as Vetancurt, Medina, Padilla, Lizardi, 
Clavigero, Navarrete, Quintana Roo, Bustamante and 
Lucas Alaman; and since her literary renaissance, which 



FOREWORD 

occurred during the last half of the nineteenth century, 
of Roa Barcena, Orozco y Berra, Gutierrez Otero, Guil- 
lermo Prieto, Altamirano, Acuiia, Romero, Gutierrez 
Najara, Juan de Dios Peza, Ruiz de Alarcon, Riva 
Palacio, Justo Sierra, Dias Covarrubias, Diaz Miron, 
Valenzuela, and Othon, Among the younger men are 
Gonzalez Obregon, Urueta, Nervo, Tablada, Campos, 
Davalos and a score of others. Mexico cannot under- 
stand the indifference to her culture on the part of the 
average American, within her gates, whose sole aim is 
apparently the acquisition of wealth. The educated 
Mexicans are familiar with the literary product of 
America, and our writers, especially our poets, are 
known, both in translation and in the original. An ac- 
quaintance with Mexican writers is highly desirable for 
resident Americans, and will be found of great value in 
the study of Mexican life and customs. 

The journeys described in the following pages oc- 
curred during the first two years of a residence in Mex- 
ico of nearly six years. Mexico City was nearly always 
the starting-point, and it proved both pleasant and 
profitable to return occasionally to the Mexican Capital 
for rest and perspective. The traveler with leisure 
might well adopt a similar plan; and if the places here 
described are visited, the life and customs will be found 
but little changed. 

The title of this volume is the name under which I 
wrote as correspondent for the Mexican Herald, and 
I desire to express my gratitude to the Editors, Man- 



FOREWORD 

ager and Staff of that paper for their unfaiHng approval 
and assistance. I also wish to thank Mr. Jose Lupercio 
of Guadalajara, Mr. C. B. Waite of Mexico City, and 
the Mexican Herald for the use of photographs. 

w. a 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER I 

PAGE 

The Lure of Mexico : California a Stepping-Stone : Invi- 
tation to Visit a Mexican Mine : The Outfit : A For- 
tunate Meeting: Railroad Travel and Opinions of 
Fellow Travelers: The English Race Natural Fault-/ 
Finders : Arrival at Durango : A Vanishing Mexican 
Friend : Baths of Las Canoas : My First Bull-Fight : 
Preparations for a Long Journey: Over Mexico's 
Mountains on a Mule 3 

CHAPTER II 

A Ride in the Dark: Misgivings: The Fiddler Guide: 
Wolf-Face: No Stop for Dinner: Beautiful Mountain 
Scenery : Ten Hours of Suspense : Wayside Crosses : 
Valley of Huahuapan : Reunion With Friends : Work 
and Play: Life in a Mexican Pueblo: A Beautiful 
Box: A Bad Peon 28 

CHAPTER III 

Stories of Lost Mines: "El Naranjal": How Mines 
Were Lost: Fear and Strange Superstitions of the In- 
dians : Story of the Man Who Says He Saw " El Nar- 
anjal " : Story of " La Providencia " : The Foolish 
Compadres: The Life Search of Don Modesto ... 52 

CHAPTER IV 

Leaving the Mines : A Last Ride : The Thoughts of a 
Mozo : A Meeting on the Train : A Man is Known 
• by his Shoes : Pleasant Experience in Zacatecas : Ar- 
rival at Mexico City: Kindness of Mexicans to Stran- 
gers : The Best Way to Learn Spanish : The Plaza 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Mayor : Cathedral Towers : Thoughts of the Con- 
quest: The Paseo de la Reforma: A Meeting with 
Diaz 82 

CHAPTER V 

Peaceful Morelia : Lake Patzcuaro : Tzintzuntzan : Urua- 
pan and Its Boom : A Fortunate Washout : Progress 
Comes to Him Who Waits : Products of Uruapan : 
Ideal Climate in the Tropics : Something About Saddle- 
Horses : Michoacan and the Tarascos : Burial of ; a 
Tarasco King: Solemnity of the Indians: Their Fes- 
tivals: Their Arts and Crafts 126 

CHAPTER VI 

Return to Mexico : Mexicans True Friends : Queretaro the 
Beautiful : The Works of Tres Guerras : The Aque- 
duct : A Visit to The Hill of The Bells : The Country 
Remained at Peace: Guadalajara the Pearl of the 
West : The City's Evening Life : In Beauty's Ranks : 
The Charro Horseman : Things that are Different : 
Social Customs: An Inquisitive Shopkeeper . . . .158 

CHAPTER VII 

Visit to Lake Chapala: A Race for Dinner: A Pleasant 
Swimming- Pool : Indian Fisherman : " El Presidio " : 
A Ride on a Mexican Coach : Trite Truths About 
Silao : Sights Worth Seeing in Guanajuato : Savage 
Dogs : A Method of Warfare : The Cross on the 
Mountain : A Man 's a Man For A' That ...... 184 

CHAPTER VIII 

Busy Leon: Pleasant Visit at the Home of Don Juan: 
Golden Days in Lagos : Aguascalientes, the Land of 
Hot Waters, Genial Climate and Warm Hearts : Its 
Foreign Colony : Baths al Fresco : " Mochte " : Bar- ' 
ber's Versatility : An Antique Zarape : Puebla, the City 
of Angels : Its Churches : Its Monuments : Birthday 
of Uncle Sam : Difficulties of English : Abundio . . 203 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER IX 

PAGE 

Fair Jalapa : New Scenes and Customs : A Strange Plant : 
The Stone Monkey: The Cathedral: The Market: 
The Plaza: Longing for Old Friends: Ancient Tlax- 
cala: Historical Reminiscence: Convent of San Fran- 
cisco: Meeting the Governor: El Santuario: Ro- 
mance and Tragedy 231 

CHAPTER X 

The Fiest of Covadonga : Gayety of the Spaniard : His 
Mexican Cousin Helps Him Celebrate : Epifanio's Tip : 
His Version of the Spanish Conquest: The Eve of 
Mexican Independence : Quaint Folk Songs : Dancing 
in the Streets: Viva Mexico 258 

CHAPTER XI 

Anticipation : Pleasures of Mexico City : Second Visit to 
Durango: Over the Mountains with Manuel: A Rainy 
Day: The Voice of the Sea: Don Lucio: Snow, Sun- 
shine and a Camp Under the Pines : A Lonely Maid : 
Manuel's Diplomacy : Snow in the Mountains : Oranges 
Keep Cold: The Ideal Camp 288 

CHAPTER XII 

A Night at Hotel Japones : Fear of a Storm : An Early 
Start : A Mountain Rancho : Mountain Hospitality : 
Recreant Mules : Forlorn Indian Family : Charm of 
Mountain Travel : The Last Descent : " El Capitan " : 
Manuel Sings As the Journey Ends : Magnolias : A 
Meeting With Bob : Home Again : The Holidays at 
the Mines : Serenade and Midnight Mass : The First 
Wheelbarrow: Isidro's Request: Christmas Dinner: 
A Mexican Ball : The Bandit Eracleo Bernal .... 308 

CHAPTER XIII 

Seeing the Mine : Testing a Tenderfoot : Open Cut to 
Lower Level : Exploring Ancient Tunnels : Mysterious 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Voices : Castles in Spain : Something About the Peon : 
The Company Store: El Diablo and the Talking Ma- 
chine : Marriage an Expensive Luxury : The Peon's 
Fondness for Children : Quaint Songs Heard in the 
Durango Hills: The Most Interesting Thing in the 
World .......* • • • 330 

CHAPTER XIV 

A Mountain Floor : Swimming the Arroyo : Dangers of 
Mountain Travel : Arrival of the Mail : The Life of 
Don Bias : The Silent Horseman : A Night at " Pig 
Gulch " : Electric Storm in the Mountains : A Dream 
City : It's a Long Ride That Has No End 358 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

A Mexican charro Frontispiece x^ 

Photographed by C. B. Waite, Mexico City. 

Mexican mozo 6 y 

Getting supper i5 »^ 

Don Alfredo 15 1/ 

A long journey 2$^ 

Hunting in Durango 25 "^ 

Over Mexico's mountains on a mule 36 *^ 

Sharpening the drills 36 i^ 

The pet burro 42*^ 

An old church made into an American home 42 •" 

The living-room 47^ 

The table was covered with enamel cloth 47 *' 

The foolish compadre 61 v^ 

" He kept his peons at work in the mines " 67 "^ 

The funeral procession 78^ 

Prayers in the little church 78 '^ 

West side of Plaza Mayor, Mexico City 90 v/' 

Zacatecas cathedral 95 t-^ 

Church of Guadalupe, Zacatecas 95 "^ 

Paseo de la Reforma, Mexico City 104 ' 

Porfirio Diaz iio*^ 

Castle of Chapultepec 114 k' 

Corridor of Chapultepec II4>^ 

Garden of Chapultepec 119'^ 

Gate to Chapultepec military college . . i 119 "^ 

San IpoHto, Mexico City, the first church built after the con- - 

quest 123 </ 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Cathedral of Morelia 129 

Photographed by C. B. Waite, Mexico City. 

The blacksmith 138'^ 

The road to Uruapan i43 ^^ 

Falls of Tzar^racua, Uruapan 143*^ 

A Tarasco fiesta . 154*^ 

Los gallos (cock-fight) i54 ' 

Fountain in Mexico City; monument to Cuauhtemoc in the 

distance I59 . 

Two views of the patio in the federal palace, Queretaro . . 166 '^ 

The road to the hot country I7'i . 

Moonlight on Lake Chapala 192 '^ 

In a Mexican garden 209 v 

The convent . 215 ' 

In a convent garden, Puebla 215 / 

Monument of Independence, Puebla 220/ 

Church of Our Lady de los Remedies, on the great pyramid 

of Cholula 225 / 

Bird's-eye view of Puebla, Mexico 230 ' 

Photographed by C. B. Waite, Mexico City. 

On the Viga Canal 238 '^ 

View east from Cortes's Palace, Cuernavaca, Mexico . . . 244 ^ 

Photographed by C. B. Waite, Mexico City. 

Tower and cypress-trees 249/ 

Ixtacalco 255 ^ 

Churchyard gateway . '. 255 ■^ 

The Discovery of Pulque 264 

Azucarilleros who sell tiny sugar figures for a few cents and 

play a tune for the buyer 268 ' 

Two portraits of Epifanio — in working and gala array . . 273 ^ 

Approach to Paseo de la Reforma, Mexico City 277 ^ 

Street kitchens 277 4 

National palace, Mexico City 284 -' 

Jockey Club, Mexico City, during flower carnival .... 284 "^ 

Mexican rurales . , 301 * 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Manuel with pack-mules on the snow. Altitude, about 10,000 

feet 315 '^ 

El Capitan 315^ 

In the valley . 326*^ 

Feeding the pack-mules 326 \^ 

Peon on ore dump rolling a cigarette 335 v^ 

Water-carrier for the mine 335 '^ 

Weighing the bead 3421^ 

The beginning of a mine 342w^ 

American mine-owners 3Si*^ 

The camp mascots 3Si*^ 

The foreman of the mine . . . . ' 361^^ 

The storekeeper 361 •^ 

The singer 369*^ 

Dona Marciana on the trail 369 '^ 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 



. . . Land of the Sun, — 
Of palm, and pine, and blood-red cactus flower,- 
Mysterious land, — I love thee : — 



THE 
MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

CHAPTER I 

The Lure of Mexico : California a Stepping-Stone : Invitation 
to Visit a Mexican Mine: The Outfit: A Fortunate Meet- 
ing: Railroad Travel and Opinions of Fellow Travelers: 
The English Race Natural Fault- Finders : Arrival at Durango : 
A Vanishing Mexican Friend: Baths of Las Canoas: My 
First Bull-Fight: Preparations for a Long Journey: Over 
Mexico's Mountains on a Mule. 

FROM boyhood I felt the lure of Mexico. Reared 
in California, where the romance of early Mexi- 
can days still lingers, and where the prodigality 
of nature and of life are in keeping with Mexican tradi- 
tion, I ardently dreamed of this Spanish-American 
southland. California is a good stepping-stone to Mexico 
— at least it proved so for me. I had been living for sev- 
eral years in New England, when I received an invitation 
from an old California friend couched in the warm 
phraseology peculiar to Californians, asking me to visit 
him and his wife at his mines in Mexico. The mines 
were located, he informed me, in the State of Durango. 
To reach them from San Francisco, they took the boat 
for Mazatlan, and from Mazatlan rode on horses or 
mules for three days in the mountains, ascending as 
high as ten thousand feet above the sea. In his letter he 

3 



4 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

referred in a matter-of-fact way to mosos (guides), 
saddle-animals, pack-mules, army-saddles, rifles, fishing- 
tackle and other attractive impedimenta, — to sleeping on 
pine boughs by the camp-fire, to the delicious night 
air of the sierra, and to the delectable dishes prepared 
by the aforesaid mozos, who from all accounts were 
ubiquitous and useful persons. 

My friend then went on to prescribe the route by 
which I should journey to this mysterious silver mine, 
which lay concealed in a remote and beautiful valley, 
in the heart of the Sierra Madre. It seemed that I must 
approach it from the opposite direction, for he was then 
on the Pacific coast and I on the Atlantic, with the moun- 
tains between us. I was to proceed immediately to 
Tennessee and there join a young Southern mining man, 
who after visiting his home was about to return to the 
famous mine La Candelaria, in San Dimas, Durango — 
about a day's ride from my destination. 

My friend also advised me as to my outfit, which in- 
cluded a khaki riding-suit, a pair of high laced boots, 
a pair of wading-boots, heavy and thin underwear, sev- 
eral suits of overalls, woolen gloves, army blankets, a 
cloth cap, a rifle, a revolver, fishing-rod and flies, and 
a medicine-kit. All these I secured and the clothing and 
blankets I packed in a pair of horse-hide trunks, weigh- 
ing about 150 pounds each. These proved useful 
throughout my journeys in Mexico, making a fair load 
for a pack-animal, and being easily adjusted and not 
hard on a mule's back. A well-chosen if abbreviated 
library of favorite authors, while it added to the rail- 
road charge for excess baggage, proved an inestimable 
solace, not only during the year I passed in the isolated 
mining region, but throughout my five years' stay in 
Mexico, 




Mexican mozo 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 7 

I found my traveling companion an alert, able and 
kindly young Southerner, and after a few days' delight- 
ful hospitality in both Tennessee and Georgia, where he 
had numerous farewell visits to make and where he in- 
sisted on my accompanying him, we proceeded via New 
Orleans to Eagle Pass, crossed the Rio Grande to Ciudad 
Porfirio Diaz, and went from there by rail across the 
northern State of Coahuila and a strip of Zacatecas to 
the junction city of Torreon, and thence to Durango, 
a fine city of about 32,000 inhabitants, the capital of the 
state of the same name, and situated at the foot of the 
eastern slope of the Sierra Madre. 
• There were numbers of English-speaking men on the 
train, several being Americans, all of whom were re- 
turning to the mines. The concensus of opinion seemed 
to be that Mexicans did not like Americans, and my 
companion, whom I now addressed, at his request, as 
Bob, shared this opinion. My upbringing in cosmopoli- 
tan California had made me distinctly hopeful as to 
human friendliness, and while I listened to what was 
said, I kept my mind open for actual experience. I had 
known many Mexicans in California, and I fancied the 
same kindly nature I had recognized in them would be 
found in their cousins across the border. 

As yet I scarcely could believe that I was in the land 
of Heart's Desire. The country was flat and uninter- 
esting, not unlike New Mexico and Arizona, as seen from 
the car windows. English was spoken by my fellow- 
passengers; and, what was even more familiar, it often 
was employed in disparagement of Mexico and the 
Mexicans. Fault-finding is natural to the English race. 
When I inquired why they were returning to Mexico, 
they related fabulous tales of wealth and adventure that 
were quite past belief. I decided that I would believe 



8 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

only what I saw, and I venture to counsel the reader, 
when visiting a foreign land, to do likewise. 

At the railroad station in Durango we hired a coach 
drawn by a pair of sleek, black mules, and after turning 
our luggage over to a couple of cargadores or porters, 
drove to the hotel, where we were lodged in a spacious, 
sunny room, with French windows opening on the street, 
red-tiled floors, and three single iron beds placed in 
a row ; the apartment having been retained by a Mexican 
associate of Bob's, who was to join our cavalcade and 
who now occupied one of the beds. Bob said the first 
thing to do was to go for a bath and accordingly led the 
way to the hotel entrance, where the coach was waiting 
for us. We got in, the coachman lashed the sleek mules 
into a gallop, and we set out for the baths of " las 
Canoas," which are housed in a long, low, white build- 
ing, about ten-minutes' drive from the center of the city. 
The proprietor, a portly, benign-looking man, who was 
seated in the porch, greeted Bob affably. He then called 
a mozo (this term is generally applied throughout Mex- 
ico to a male servant), and the latter led us to a large 
room, with a window opening into a garden, where we 
could see orange trees and flowers. In the center of 
the room there was a huge tank, perhaps eight feet 
square and four feet deep, empty and spotlessly clean, 
with steps leading down to the bottom. The mozo 
brought fresh straw mats, two large cotton sheets, rough 
towels, a little toilet glass with fittings, soap and zacate 
(fiber), which does service as a sponge. The soap and 
zacate were in small, tin dishes which float on the water, 
and are thus near at hand when required. He next 
pulled out a wooden plug in the side of the tank and a 
torrent of water gushed in, filling the tank to the height 
of a man's waist ere we could divest ourselves of our 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 9 

clothing. Bob jumped in without ado ; but I paused on 
the top step and dipped in a wary toe to try the water. 
Finding it only a trifle cooler than body temperature, I 
too made the plunge and reveled in the soft, greenish- 
clear water, which carries iron and sulphur. All the 
cities of Mexico are favored with fine baths, but for 
delightful water and arrangements I commend " las 
Canoas " of Durango. 

Returning to our hotel, where the small mules drew 
us at a gallop, we were in an excellent mood for dinner ; 
and while it was good enough and everything deliciously 
flavored, I was amazed at the numberless meat courses 
and the great lack of vegetables. First came a soup, 
then rice with a meaty flavor, this being called " dry 
soup," next eggs in any style one preferred, and then 
meat, meat, meat, with different colored gravies and 
well-cooked, to be sure, but scarcely what one would 
expect in a hot climate and in the midst of prolific vege- 
tation. Dinner ended with delicious frijoles (black 
beans), cofl'ee, a sweet, and, I am glad to record, oranges 
and bananas. 

The next day being Sunday, we went to the bull-fight. 
I was not consulted, our seats, like our beds, having been 
engaged weeks ago by this same obliging but disappear- 
ing friend of Bob's, who never retired until after we 
were asleep, nor awoke until long after we had arisen. 
I finally met him and was glad to thank him for his 
forethought and careful arrangement for our comfort ; 
but beyond one or two fleeting conversations, our ac- 
quaintance progressed no further. Bob excused his 
constant absence by explaining that he was a calavera 
(sport). 

And now for my first bull-fight : it was a strong, fierce, 
tense experience that comes back as vividly to-day as it 



10 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

did — say the week after. It took me quite a week to 
recover a normal sense of discrimination. The Durango 
plaza was large and massively built. When we entered 
we found an immense crowd of people, from every 
social grade; the aristocrats, elegantly attired, agreeable 
in looks and manner, filled the boxes; the occupants of 
the first-class benches, characterized as la Sonibra, or 
shady side, included hosts of Americans and Europeans; 
while the multitude thronged the sunny side of the arena 
called el Sol, and it was el sol indeed with all the blaze 
of a cloudless afternoon. And there, beneath the in- 
tense blue of the Mexican heavens, the sport that in 
more senses than one is tragedy was enacted. The band 
struck up " El Toreador," the pageant entered, and the 
fight began. A savage little black Mexican bull made 
his entrance, flaunting a gaudy ribbon from the tiny 
steel dart jabbed into his shoulder as he cleared the gate. 
The picadores on their wretched, blindfolded hacks 
began prodding him with lances. With his sharp horns 
he caught one of the shambling horses and disem- 
boweled him. The picadores retired and the band- 
erilleros performed graceful and daring acts, luring the 
bull to charge, then lightly swerving, to avoid his on- 
slaught, and planting the handerillos in his neck as he 
lurched past. The multitude in el Sol, highly pleased, 
began shouting. The little bull made a swift rush, 
sprang into the air, all feet off the ground, got his fore- 
legs over the first paling — at least five feet high, and 
plunged over it into the narrow lane between it and the 
audience, scattering the attendants in every direction. 
But he was driven back into the ring, and there he 
received the death-thrust from the sword of the matador, 
the star of the performance. A spike-team of white 
mules adorned with ribbons and bells then dashed in and 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO ii 

as rapidly out again, drawing the dead bull. The music 
struck up, another bull sprang into the arena, and the 
show went on. Seven bulls were killed. I can describe 
my state only as one of dazed excitement. What hap- 
pened after we quitted the bull-ring I cannot recall. I 
felt exhausted and retired early, only to wake repeatedly 
with a sense of nightmare. The next morning, on wak- 
ing, I had much difficulty in realizing that the scenes of 
the previous day were not a dream. 

Bob now devoted himself to securing a mozo and 
animals for our journey. The friend, it seemed, could 
not tear himself away from the charming night-life of 
Durango ; and while he continued to occupy his bed by 
day, I did not again meet him, clothed and in his right 
mind, so to speak. I cherish memories, however, of 
an affable and obliging man. Our preparations for the 
mountains I found intensely interesting. In the first 
place I must buy a mule for myself. Then my Cali- 
fornia friend, who will figure in these pages as Don 
Alfredo, that being his name in the Mexican mining 
regions, had commissioned Bob to purchase for him the 
best saddle-mule he could find, the Durango mules being 
■famed for their easy pace. Bob, who was a judge of 
mules, secured a prize for $100 Mexican money. She 
was coal-black, slender as a thoroughbred, with an 
easy trot, a good running gait, and as gentle as the 
proverbial kitten. Her name was " Queen." The beast 
I chose was the next best to be had in the market. She 
was fairly good-looking, dark brown in color, and had an 
excellent gait, half-pace, half-singlefoot. She cost me 
$70 Mexican money. She had no name, it appeared, and 
though I called her " Rhea," and tried to cultivate her 
friendship, she seemed endowed with native distrust 
of the " Gringo " ; and while she carried me patiently 



12 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

for a year, she was as reserved at parting as when I 
first acquired her. These two mules were as unlike in 
character as any two human beings could possibly be. 
Bob now engaged as mozo a somewhat saturnine-looking 
party, who was reputed to be a good guide, a mule for 
the mozo to ride, another to carry our grub-box and 
blankets ; and after purchasing our provisions and neces- 
sary cooking outfit, we were at last prepared to invade 
the fastnesses of the impregnable Sierras, which loomed 
purple in the distance, the white clouds floating about 
their summits, beyond which lay mystery and adventure. 

Have you ever ridden over the mountains of Mexico 
on a mule? If not there is joy before you — provided 
that you love the mountains, and long days of brilliant 
sunshine, and cloudless, starlit nights. It goes without 
saying that the time for such a ride is the dry season, 
which begins in October and with few variations lasts 
until the ensuing May. 

Choose a mule by all means — a mare makes the best 
saddle-animal — and after you have ridden her a day, you 
will feel absolute confidence in the creature. A Mexican 
mule takes no chances. She springs lightly over a 
heap of dead leaves on the trail, rather than risk a pos- 
sibly concealed pitfall, and leaps from one boulder to 
another with the agility of a cat. If overtaken by dark- 
ness, you may drop your bridle-rein on your mule's neck, 
and be perfectly secure in her caution and judgment. 
With her nose close to the narrow and often dangerous 
trail, that you no longer see, she will follow it as un- 
erringly as a dog follows the scent. 

In the mountains, the heat is seldom oppressive save at 
midday. Then your mozo finds a cool spot, near a 
stream if possible, for your luncheon and siesta. Your 
mozo is nearly always a cheerful, obliging individual, of 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 13 

sanguine temperament, trained to servitude and hard- 
ship, expecting Httle, yet accepting without effusiveness 
any httle luxuries you may care to bestow. After a long 
day's ride, he unsaddles the animals, has a fire blazing 
in a jiffy, and cooks your supper; while you lie on the 
ground and stretch your tired legs, inhaling the grateful 
fumes of meat on the coals. You are ravenous, and for 
the moment supper is of more importance than anything 
else in life. If you have provided well, you are soon 
devouring a steak, broiled as only a mozo can broil, hot 
tortillas (corn cakes), frijoles (beans) and perhaps 
tamales. Then comes a steaming cup of black coffee, 
and with pipe or cigarro for company, you roll yourself 
in your blankets and lazily watch the stars, the camp- 
fire, — and listen to the wind in the trees until — you 
stretch yourself luxuriously with the feeling that you 
have been asleep and behold your mozo calmly prepar- 
ing breakfast, while the animals, near at hand, are munch- 
ing their corn. It is four o'clock. You have slept eight 
solid hours and must be off at the crack of dawn, in 
order that you may rest when the heat comes. You 
may have rolled in, more tired than ever before in your 
life. You awake, rested in every limb, feeling that you 
could run, leap, sing — so wonderful is this mountain 
air. 

Then too — the pine woods, through which you ride 
for hours, frequently , for days — there is magic in their 
balm for weary bodies and tired nerves. You will try 
to analyze the peculiar charm that pervades your entire 
journey. Perhaps it partly lies in the endless vista of 
mountains beyond, in the feeling that this free existence 
must go on forever. You gain a cumhre or summit, ten 
thousand feet above sea level, and gazing over miles of 
forest and meadow, you behold another mountain, its. 



14 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

crest enveloped in white mist, and you know that to- 
morrow you will tread its height. When it is gained, 
there are still more mountains beiore you, more beautiful 
in contour and color, and the charm never fails. 

You may ride for days without meeting a human be- 
ing, but now and again you hear your mozo singing, as 
he follows with the pack-animals, and you are never 
lonesome. Should you pass a rancho, you will find there 
fresh eggs, milk and delicious cheese and a roof for the 
night if you desire. The house and all it contains are at 
your service while you remain, and you have a struggle 
to make the owners accept a cent in return. Though 
almost invariably poor, these mountain folk have hos- 
pitality bred in the bone and a gentle, innate courtesy. 
I often found that a gift of coffee, tobacco, sugar and 
such luxuries were more acceptable and less mortifying 
to them than money. It seemed more like an exchange 
of kindnesses. 

But mountain journeys, like all pleasant experiences, 
must end. Perhaps your goal is some ancient Spanish 
mine, long since abandoned, from which fabulous wealth 
was taken centuries ago, and which will yet make you 
rich beyond your wildest dreams. Such mines have been 
bought in Mexico for a song, and many more remain. 
But whether you gain a fortune or not, one good you 
have had past losing — the joy of long, health-giving 
days and restful nights; and their memory will remain 
with you and haunt you, till some fine day will see you 
again in the saddle, astride your nimble mule, bound 
for the mountain heights of sunny Mexico. 

The inevitable delays which always attend the be- 
ginning of a journey in Mexico were not lacking in Du- 
rango, and it was ten o'clock before we were ready to 
start. Finally our mozo appeared with his pack-mule. 




Getting supper 




Don Alfredo 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 17 

the grub-box and light travehng baggage were loaded 
and lashed in place with rawhide reatas or ropes, and 
Bob, mounted on the black mule, headed our cavalcade, 
with myself next and the mozo and pack-animal bring- 
ing up the rear. 

The ascent began at the outskirts of the city, where 
the foot-hills led up gradually to the mountains. The 
beginning of the ride was hot and dusty, and by noon 
the heat was intense. At one o'clock we crossed a shal- 
low barranca with a sluggish stream, and Bob called a 
halt for luncheon. As there was no shade, we sat on 
the banks of the stream in the broiling sun, while the 
mozo started a fire, and cutting off a huge chunk of beef, 
he impaled it on a pointed stake and began singeing it 
in the flames. I was just owning to an inward feeling 
of disappointment at the inept culinary efforts of the 
mozo, when Bob began openly to express his disap- 
proval, and declared that he himself could cook far 
better. He accordingly produced some bacon and a 
frying-pan, and also brewed some excellent coffee. 
With the addition of rolls we made a meal, while the 
mozo, left to his own devices, devoured the beef to the 
last morsel. His bloodshot eye and sullen manner now 
excited Bob's suspicion, and coming on him unexpectedly, 
while feeding the mules, he found him drinking mescal 
from a quart bottle. As it was nearly empty, there was 
nothing to do but make the best of a bad bargain — 
and this he proved. A more surly dog I never en- 
countered ; indeed all the other mozos I subsequently 
knew were quite up to what I had heard of them in 
excellence. 

In mountain travel, distances are not calculated in 
miles but in hours or days, this resulting in considerable 
vagueness as to the chance of arriving anywhere. From 



i8 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

the barranca to the rancho where we intended to sleep 
that night was, according to the mozo, a matter of four 
hours. At the expiration of four hours, however, no 
rancho was in sight, and we rode for two hours more 
before we arrived, it being then nearly eight o'clock. 
This indefiniteness as to time and distance, at first ex- 
asperating, finally becomes a matter of course; and I 
may say I have never yet arrived at any place in the 
mountains at the time the mozo predicted. 

The owner of the rancho was a fat, good-natured 
man, who received us pleasantly, assured us his house 
was ours, and invited us to join him at supper. We 
were glad enough to avail ourselves of his hospitality 
and though his beds were without springs we were 
asleep almost as soon as our heads touched the pillows, 
which were of wool and stuffed as hard as rocks. The 
first day of a journey is always trying and after nine 
hours in the saddle I was weary to exhaustion. To my 
surprise I awoke in the morning without a particle of 
fatigue or soreness, and this has always been my ex- 
perience in the mountains. 

On this, our second day, we made an early start. We 
had a long ride ahead, to make a favorable camp for the 
night, and Bob set the pace at a spanking trot. I had 
slung my rifle at one side of my saddle and my fishing 
rod at the other, and felt rather pleased with my outfit ; 
but after we had ridden three hours, during which we 
had made good headway, I discovered that my fishing 
rod had become loosed from its moorings and disap- 
peared. It was a fine, jointed rod and I did not want 
to lose it; so shouting to Bob that I would soon over- 
take him, I turned my mule about and began racing back 
over the trail ; but not a sign of the rod did I see. The 
thought that every moment I was putting a greater dis- 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 19 

tance between the others and myself was not comforting, 
especially as I knew nothing of the country and did not 
speak enough Spanish to ask a direction even if I met a 
living soul, which I did not. Giving up the search I 
started to overtake Bob and the mozo, and now I ob- 
served, for the first time, that frequently the trail forked, 
so that I was in doubt which one to follow. Fortunately 
no other animals had passed since our own and I was 
able to make out the hoof-marks in the trail and after 
two hours' hard riding I overtook them. A year later,, 
while paying a visit to a mine owned by Americans, the 
storekeeper handed me a note scrawled on a piece of 
wrapping paper, and addressed to " Sefior Americano," 
asking if by any chance it was for me. It ran as follows : 
" I found on the DurangO' trail a bag and it had four 
yellow sticks and a gun-wiper; you can stop at my 
rancho when you go back and get it by paying for the 
same." There was no signature, and while the store- 
keeper, who was a Mexican, knew the man and told 
me where his rancho was, he did not know his name or 
nationality,'*' he asserted, however, that he was an ex- 
tranjero (foreigner). Another year passed, and on my 
way out from the mines I passed by the rancho and in- 
quired for the extranjero. The place was occupied by 
Mexicans, and to all my inquiries they placidly answered 
" Quien sabef" I only learned that he had gone away 
and he doubtless took the " four yellow sticks and the 
gun-wiper " with him. 

The second night shortly after sundown we reached 
a fine camping place in the pines, beside a clear stream. 
The mozo, who was suffering the aftermath of his spree, 
was still in a partial stupor. Bob, therefore, constituted 
himself chef once more, while he set the mozo to col- 
lecting dry logs for the night fire. We were now at an 



20 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

altitude of about seven thousand feet and at this height 
the air cools with great rapidity after sunset. After 
supper Bob piled some big logs on the fire and then 
showed me how to make my bed ; in this operation every 
available article is utilized, including saddle and saddle- 
cloths. The mules after eating their corn, were hobbled 
and allowed to graze at will, and we were glad to crawl 
into our beds and go to sleep. 

About midnight I was awakened by the cold, which, de- 
spite the fire, was intense. There was no wind, and the 
heavens were bright with enormous stars, that seemed 
very near, with a subsidiary spangling of small stars 
that made one think of diamond dust. Notwithstanding 
my army blankets and a thick rug I was shaking with 
the cold and Bob, waking at the same instant, proposed 
that we move our beds together and thus obtain double 
covering from our blankets. This we did, and with the 
additional warmth of our bodies we were soon comfort- 
able again and slept soundly. The mozo, who had only 
his ordinary zarape or blanket, had wrapped it about his 
head and mouth, and was crouching over the fire. 

The next day we descended several thousand feet and 
found the valley intensely hot. Bob had been at con- 
siderable tension from the beginning of our journey, 
and the hot weather together with the sullen mozo were 
irritating him greatly. While our acquaintance had 
been too brief for an exchange of confidences, I gathered 
that he held a position of trust at the mines, and that 
after a prolonged absence, due partly to previous illness, 
he was anxious to be again at his post. As he neared his 
destination his anxiety increased. In his early twenties, 
of Southern family and with the nervous, eager temper 
imparted by Celtic race, very ambitious and excited by 
the lure of the mines, at the period when a young man's 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 21 

blood courses swiftly, he had been drawn into the fever- 
ish business until it wholly possessed him. 

I had never before realized the relentless cruelty of 
this pursuit of gold — or rather of silver, which is twice 
as bad, because you must obtain twice as much. True, 
I was also bound for the mines ; but, whether it be for 
good or ill, the pursuit of gold has ever failed to absorb 
my attention for long. Sometimes it seems a defect of 
character, but I try to analyze it in vain. Not that I 
do not want gold and what gold can buy ; but life is so 
rich, so full, so insistent — and gold is so elusive ! It is 
as though life were forever pressing, full-handed, its 
treasure upon us — the beauty of the world, love, friend- 
ship; while gold, which offers itself grudgingly, can not 
confer any of the gifts that life so freely bestows. 

I could not but feel sad about Bob, so young and 
generous, with all his bright day-dreams depending on 
one thing only — the acquisition of gold. For him the 
purple, distant mountains had nO' meaning, save that 
perhaps they concealed rich veins of ore. The clear, 
leaping streams were good for one thing alone — to turn 
a turbine wheel in an ore mill. The sunset had no 
charm — for it came too soon, forcing us into camp 
when he would be farther on the way. The boy fretted 
and fumed and goaded the ugly mozo into a fury, and 
the latter, taking it out on the pack-mule, lashed the 
poor beast until she dropped in her tracks and refused 
to get up again. So here we were in a pretty fix, — with 
mule and grub-box on the ground. 

Fortunately at this moment we heard a whistle and 
then the sound of hoofs and a ranchman appeared, 
mounted on a stocky roan horse with a thick, long black 
mane and tail. Bob immediately asked him if he wanted 
to sell. The ranchman said he did not, but so insistent 



22 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

was Bob and so tempting the roll of money he flourished 
before the man's eyes, the latter began to hesitate and 
finally said he would take seventy dollars for the horse, 
which Bob promptly counted out and gave him. The 
mozo's saddle was now transferred to the roan, the grub- 
box and blankets to the other mule, and the pack-mule, 
which still lay on the ground, was commended to the 
care of the ranchman, whose rancho was not far ofif, and 
who promised to get the tired beast on its feet and care 
for it until the mozo should return and claim it. Bob 
seemed highly pleased with his new purchase. He had 
the Southerner's love of horse-flesh, and he now recalled 
the old saying about the staying powers of a roan or a 
gray. This beast had an ugly mouth, and when the 
mozo mounted him he stood up on his hind legs and 
pawed the air. It was now the mozo's turn to be pleased 
and the result of this horse trade was an improvement 
in the spirits of the entire party. 

Bob now proposed that as we had lost so much time 
and it was desirable we should make a rancho for the 
night, we should content ourselves with a handful of 
provender from the grub-box and push on. He said 
we had still a long ride to the rancho, and I readily 
acquiesced. As for the mozo, he was as pleased with the 
fiery little roan as a child with a toy ; and if he ate any- 
thing between breakfast and supper I did n't see him. 
Eating seems a matter of chance rather than a regular 
system with a mozo. If it so happens, he eats three 
meals a day. If it does n't happen, he bides his time, 
and then tucks away enough to make up for the meals 
he has missed. I never heard a Mexican mozo emit the 
slightest complaint about discomfort or privation, though 
I often have seen him suffer both. 

The sun went down and signs of the rancho there 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 23 

were none. The mozo calmly averred that it was " just 
over there," pointing to the next hill ahead of us; but 
as he had said this of the four preceding hills, and each 
had presented nothing but more hills in perspective, 
I began to think he knew no more about the proximity 
of the rancho than we did. 

We were anxious to arrive though it was to be our last 
night together, the rancho lying at the point where our 
trails divided. Bob would keep straight on the main 
trail, arriving at the Candelaria mine the next night; 
while I was to branch off on to a comparatively untrav- 
eled one, which should lead me to the Huahuapan dis- 
trict. Before we left Durango, Bob telegraphed his 
mine, asking them to send a mozo to the rancho to act 
as my guide to Huahuapan ; it being necessary to engage 
a mozo who belonged in that part of the mountains and 
who knew the route to this mysterious valley which was 
my destination. 

It was now quite dark and I was beginning to fear we 
had missed the trail, when on crossing another low hill 
we saw a blazing fire straight ahead and heard a most 
amazing sound ; it was nothing more nor less than the 
squeaking of a fiddle accompanied by the monotonous 
beating of a drum. We could now distinguish the low 
outline of buildings and several figures about the fire. 
It is the custom in these parts to build a bonfire at night 
in the corral before the ranch-house ; and it is not at 
all a bad custom, affording as it does an opportunity to 
take the fresh air and enjoy the blaze at the same time. 

Arriving at the fire, we learned that the owner of the 
rancho was away on a journey, and the place was in 
charge of the Indian peones. The fiddler, it seemed, was 
a stray nomad who had stopped over night, and was 
doubtless paying for his entertainment with his tunes. 



24 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

The drum, the peones told us, had been left at the 
fancho, quien sabe how, why, or by whom, and one of 
their number had the happy inspiration of beating it to 
accompany the fiddler. With the equanimity that ob- 
tains in Mexico, neither of the performers stopped for 
one moment on our account ; and the effect produced 
by the weird tune and the incessant, dull note of the 
drum was strange and savage. Add to this the motion- 
less forms of the other peones and the huge wavering- 
shadows cast by the fire, and you have a strange scene, 
which was not lessened by the arrival, from out the 
darkness, of our cavalcade. 

I had already begun to have the experience of wonder- 
ing whether anything really was strange after all; and 
while Mexico in general is conducive to this, the moun- 
tains are especially so. I believe that these mountain 
people are chastened and humbled by the stupendous ex- 
pressions of nature which always surround them. The 
peones, while perfectly apathetic to us, made no objec- 
tion to our cooking our meal at the fire and sleeping in 
a small, dungeon-like outhouse. The main dwelling was 
locked and barred and not to be opened on any account 
until the master's return. 

The serious thing was the failure of my mozo to put 
in an appearance, the only possible explanation being 
that Bob's wire did not go through ; but this did not 
seem nearly so strange to me as that it should have gone 
through. There was something incredible in the thought 
of telegraph wires crossing those stupendous mountains ; 
and while Bob assured me that they did so, I extracted 
from him the admission that the wires were down a 
good part of the time and that they probably were 
down now. 

He also told me a diverting if somewhat disturbing 




A long journex 




Hunting in Durango 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 27 

tale about the mails. He said the mail bag was carried 
by special mozos, between the mines and the nearest post- 
offices, which were usually the trivial distance of from 
two to three days' journey. The mozo went on foot. 
Why? Because he knew short cuts that no mule could 
travel. On mule-back it would take twice as long. Not 
many months since, Bob said, he despatched the mail 
mozo with a large batch of correspondence, and as he 
was gone much longer than he should be, he sent an- 
other mozo to look for him. The second mozo came 
across the first, asleep in the woods and very drunk. 
Beside him was the rifled mail-bag with the remains of 
letters he had opened, not apparently with justifiable 
intent. Only a small portion of the letters were there, 
however, and it developed that, growing tired of his in- 
nocent pastime, he had thrown the balance into the 
river. I must add in justice to the tribe of mozos that 
my letters were carried by one for more than a year, and 
that I never missed a piece of mail to my knowledge. 

While I was spreading my blankets on the dirt floor 
of the small dungeon referred to, the music stopped. 
Presently Bob entered and remarked that he had paid 
the fiddler and the drummer liberally and that as the 
former said he knew the Huahuapan trail, he had en- 
gaged him to act as my guide, for the moderate sum 
of six dollars. I begged him to call me when he awoke 
the following morning, so that I might take leave of 
him then, and also start away from the rancho at the 
same time that he did. That nothing impressed me any 
longer as strange or unusual was indicated by my not 
giving a second thought to my new guide, though I was 
aware that Bob had never set eyes on him before. The 
mountains, I think, had normalized me too and I slept 
peacefully. 



CHAPTER II 

A Ride in the Dark: Misgivings: The Fiddler-Guide: Wolf- 
Face: No Stop for Dinner: Beautiful Mountain Scenery: 
Ten Hours of Suspense: Wayside Crosses: Valley of 
Huahuapan : Reunion with Friends: Work and Play: Life 
in a Mexican Pueblo: A Beautiful Box: A Bad Peon. 

I AWOKE to a sense of suffocation and of foul air 
charged with the odors of mule trappings, sad- 
dles and blankets, with a lurking substratum of 
smells that attach to unventilated rooms which have been 
slept in by countless human beings. The mozo was per- 
forming a muffled tattoo on the door. I knew his voice 
though his words were unintelligible, and lighting a 
match, found it was four o'clock. Bob was sleeping as 
sound as a log and I had to shake him. The poor boy 
was drugged with sleep and bad air. I have never gotten 
over feeling a sort of pity for children and young people 
in the throes of sleep. There is something pitiable in 
their struggles to break the lethargy that holds them, and 
that doubtless is a response to their nervous and physical 
needs. 

Bob suddenly roused himself, sprang up and began 
folding his blankets; we had few preparations to make, 
for anticipating a hurried departure, we had thrown 
ourselves down without removing our clothing, and with 
our boots on. Opening the door, we found the mozo 
waiting for our saddles, and I discovered that the mules 
were there too, — that is I felt and heard them. It was 
pitch dark, the only light being shed from a blazing 

28 



THE ]\IAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 29 

pine-knot held by a motionless Indian. Bob hurriedly 
shook hands and bade me good-by, promising that we 
should meet soon. Then he got on his mule — the mozo 
was already in the saddle — there was the quick scurry 
of unshod hoofs, and the party was swallowed up by 
the black forest. 

I was aware of further saddling operations under way, 
and my mule was dragged, rather than led, to where I 
was standing. It seemed ungracious in her, now that 
she was the only remaining acquaintance left me, to 
snort and pull back at sight of me. I began to feel 
very much alone. The mysterious personage who 
brought my mule had his neck and chin muffled in a 
zarape and I presumed he was the fiddler who was to 
act as my guide. 

It occurred to me that our grub-box was on the pack- 
mule and that the pack-mule was off with Bob. The 
ranch-house showed no light or sign of life. I appealed 
to the Indian, who remained motionless supporting the 
torch, and having no Spanish at my command, began 
talking to him in English. His true propensity to act as 
caryatid was now apparent, for apart from rolling his 
eyes, he gave no evidence of hearing. My common sense 
told me that what I needed was the Spanish name for 
some article of food. At first I thought in vain. Then 
I recalled California, and with it came the word tamales. 
Again his eyes rolled but now he shook his head. This 
was encouraging for he evidently understood. Again I 
thought, and again recovered a word — tortillas. Who 
that knows California has not seen these round, wafer- 
like corn-cakes ? At this the Indian came to life, grunted 
something in the folds of his zarape, and shuffled off to 
the ranch-house. Returning, he thrust into my hands 
a clammy, soggy mass which proved to be a number of 



30 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

huge tortillas, about eight inches in diameter and nearly 
half an inch thick. I learned later that this variety is 
known as g or das, the name deriving from the adjective 
gorda, which means thick or fat, and that it is employed 
on journeys. In my gratitude I gave the Indian what 
loose silver I had, and wrapping the gordas in my bath- 
towel, I stowed them in my saddle-bags, mounted my 
reluctant mule, and motioned the fiddler to lead the way. 
The latter, who as yet had not spoken, got on his own 
beast, and without turning his head said something that 
was evidently a farewell to the Indian, who responded. 
The Indian's voice, while monotonous, was not unpleas- 
ant; but the fiddler's voice — how to qualify it! Harsh, 
cracked — no, it was canine, between a snarl and a whine. 
I began to feel curious to see the owner of that unhuman 
voice. 

My mule followed the fiddler's beast, nose to crupper, 
for she was strange to those mountains and as yet there 
was no sign of dawn. The air was cool and delicious 
with the night-odors of the woods, and as it dispelled 
the poisonous emanations I had breathed during the 
night, my mind grew clear and alert. The consolation 
that Nature gives to men was now revealed to me in an 
extraordinary way. I knew from their odor that we 
were in the pines ; their branches brushed my face, some- 
times not very gently; again my knee was grazed by a 
tree-trunk, my mule being unable in the dark to gauge 
the required leeway. There was something friendly 
about those pine trees and while I felt the strangeness of 
the illimitable, vast mountains, I experienced comfort in 
being among those trees, which were like the trees of my 
native land. 

I was eager for daybreak, and was tempted to revamp 
a certain aged maxim to the strain, " A looked-for dawn 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 31 

never comes." It came, by imperceptible changes, from 
dark to dusk — then gray. The rainy season was close 
at hand and the sky was overcast with rain clouds. 
The first light was suffused with mist, and my first view 
of the fiddler was as through a veil of gauze. The ap- 
parition revealed to me was certainly a strange one. He 
was easily six feet when he stood upright. His mount 
was a small, scrawny, buckskin mare, with a black wisp 
of a tail. He sat her with a forward crouch, and his 
stirrups barely cleared the ground. Even then he rode 
with a high stirrup, just resting the toes of his huge bare 
feet, while his legs flopped in unison with every move 
of his wiry little mustang. He made me think of noth- 
ing so much as a great wolf on horseback. Then he 
turned his head clear round, without swerving his body, 
and looked at me, and I saw what I may describe, without 
exaggeration, as a wolf -face. He was not dark but 
yellow, horribly scarred by pox, with a reddish mane 
of hair and scant, scrubby whiskers depending from 
neck and chin. His disgusting mouth was toothless, 
save for isolated and prodigiously long, projecting fangs. 
But the worst of all were his eyes, — narrow, slit-like, with 
blood-red rims, — not cruel nor vindictive ; for an instant 
I was puzzled, then it came over me like a flash — they 
were not human! They were shallow, alert, watchful, 
like the eyes of a dog or a wolf. 

I think I know a man by his eyes; it Is there I look 
for revelations, whether good or bad. And as I be- 
lieve in the saving grace in almost every human being, 
I am willing to take a chance with a man. But when 
I encounter, in the head of a man, eyes that lack the 
human light, I am filled with doubt and distrust; for 
there seems nothing to take hold of. Such were the 
eyes of my guide. Several times he turned and looked 



32 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

at me, and although I nodded to him with the hope of 
establishing relations, he made no sign nor sound. 

It was now broad day. The sun appeared above the 
mountains to the east, and it became very hot. I felt 
as though freed from a sort of spell or enchantment, 
which in my case had induced a previous sense of con- 
tentment and supreme trust. I began to take stock of 
my situation, with a rapid survey of the events of the 
past two weeks. 

I had taken train at Boston and journeyed to the 
Mexican border with the usual railway train environ- 
ment. Bob's society had added a piquant element, and 
his savoir faire in Mexico had made the transition easy 
for me. Again in the mountains, Bob taking all as a 
matter of course, I had done the same. But last and 
principally, there was a matter-of-course finality per- 
taining to Mexico's psychology. This affects every one 
sooner or later. Obviously it had affected me sooner; 
and I found myself in the heart of a great wilderness, 
journeying I knew not whither, in the wake of the most 
repulsive and fearsome man I had ever encountered. I 
realized what a fool I had been to accept for a guide 
one who was not known even at the rancho; and while 
I wished I had stuck to Bob, I did not blame him. With 
the thoughtlessness of youth he had seized on the first 
way out of our dilemma. I, being his senior, should 
have employed ordinary caution. I resolved that I would 
make the best of the situation, and give Wolf-Face no 
hint of my uneasiness. From that instant, while I as- 
sumed an assured demeanor, I never for a second re- 
laxed my vigilance. 

I was aware that our order of march was wrong; for 
in Mexico the mozo or guide takes the rear: but I de- 
termined that Wolf-Face should never get behind me. 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 33 

He displayed a dangerous-looking revolver in his belt, 
and also a long, leather-encased knife. I did not doubt 
he was an adept with either or both. I cudjeled my 
brain for some Spanish mandatory word, thinking that 
for the sake of morale I should give an occasional order. 
He was crossing a tiny, clear rivulet, which cut the trail, 
and my intense thirst made me involuntarily cry, 
" Agua!" He turned and I held up my drinking cup. 
I can see him now, as he slid off his mustang and came 
slinking back along the trail after the cup. Swiftly 
crouching he filled it and as he handed it, removed his 
hat with his left hand and fawned against my mule, 
leering up at me with his shallow eyes. I knew some- 
how that he would try for the rear, and when he 
cringed again and motioned for me to pass ahead, I 
had another inspiration. " Andale!" I said in a bored 
voice. Bob used to say " Andale ! " at minute-intervals 
to the Durango coachmen. It really means " walk ! " 
but it is the common mandate for " hurry ! " At this he 
scrambled astride his mustang and went on, looking 
back repeatedly, as though he feared I would turn and 
vanish. But I had no such intention. My revolver was 
close at my hand and so was my rifle, and I knew I 
could hold my own so long as I kept him in the lead. 

I thought of the long distance separating me from 
civilization, as represented by Durango. For three days 
we had been journeying into the mountains, and now, 
on the fourth, the country was the wildest I had seen. 
Still it was beautiful, with a savage, awe-inspiring beauty. 
The thread-like trail, which must have been long aban- 
doned, lay midway along the side of precipitous cliffs, 
whose heights towered thousands of feet overhead, and 
whose declivities fell in almost sheer descent thousands 
of feet below. The rock formations, of red sandstone. 



34 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

were equal in grandeur to those of Colorado, and for long 
intervals their imposing splendor, enhanced by the 
majesty of the pine forests and the intense blue of the 
heavens, made me forget my uneasiness. Then I would 
encounter the stare of those shallow eyes. They seemed 
to say, " Keep it up as long as you can. You will wear 
out in the end ! " 

While the trail had been long in disuse, I saw small 
wooden crosses at intervals, marking the spot where a 
death had occurred. I had heard that on these moun- 
tain trails it was usually a death of violence — from 
shooting or with the knife. There came to my mind 
a story I had heard at the hotel in Durango of an 
American who, while prospecting for mines in these 
mountains, became separated from his companions. 
They found his body, weeks later, with his revolver 
lying near his hand. I concluded that my case was not 
so bad as his, for Wolf-Face, at least, knew where we 
were going. 

The sun was now high overhead. Wolf-Face stopped 
at another small stream, and began with clawing ges- 
tures to simulate eating or rather tearing food. He 
also pointed to a slight recess ofif the trail where we 
might dismount, it being his obvious wish to stop for 
dinner. For an instant I wavered, being half-famished; 
but my distrust was strong. With a peremptory 
" Andale ! " I motioned him on ; and on he went, with 
occasional furtive, backward glances that taxed my com- 
posure. I had neglected my watch the night before, 
so even this remnant of ordinary existence was denied 
me; but I judged from the position of the sun it 
was about two o'clock. As I had not yet eaten a 
mouthful, I drew forth a huge gorda and tried to eat. 




Over Mexico's mountains on a mule 




Sharpening the drills 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO z7 

It was coarse, cold, and unsavory; but I was faint for 
food, and forced myself to swallow. I now thought of 
my flask, which was a parting gift from friends. It 
was filled with tequila, the native brandy made from the 
root of the maguey. Until then I had scarcely tasted it, 
but I filled the cup to the brim, and as T drained the 
fiery liquor I thought of my friends. The stuff put life 
into me, and what with another gorda to stop the burn- 
ing and another draught to wash down the gorda, I 
managed to revive the inner man. 

Wolf-Face now performed the first human act I had 
observed. He had watched me attentively and no doubt 
noted my flask. Coming to another rivulet, he alighted 
on the trail, and held out his hand for my drinking-cup. 
The water was ice-cold and delicious. After drinking, 
I filled the cup with tequila and gave it to him. He 
took it at one gulp, but after it, he stood almost erect, 
and for the first time I saw in him the semblance of a 
man. Immoral was it, — and unethical? I have naught 
to say in extenuation, except that I was determined to 
win. 

At what I presumed to be about five o'clock, the sun 
passed below the mountain rim, and my heart sank with 
it. Night would come — not rapidly — but it would 
come. Wolf-Face was gazing back again. Again he 
clawed the air, but now he was pointing. From the 
wide, free sweep of his arm I saw he was pointing 
over immeasurable distance to something far below in 
the valley. Wild hope sprang up in my breast and I 
peered into the valley. At last I distinguished something 
like a shining, silver ribbon. Surely that must be the 
little river! And beside it, I could make out rectangu- 
lar, brown objects. The roofs of adobe huts of course! 



38 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

It must be — it was — " Huahuapan ! " barked Wolf- 
Face excitedly. It was the first sound he had uttered 
all day. 

The trail now made an abrupt turn down the side of 
the mountain, which was covered with dense chaparral, 
and the huts were lost to view. Soon we came to the 
crest of a slight rise, preparatory to another descent, and 
I saw them again. From then on I had occasional 
cheering glimpses of the pueblo, where I hoped my 
friends awaited me ; and each time the huts appeared 
larger. The trail was precipitous and dangerous, but 
my mule, whatever her shortcomings, was sure-footed ; 
and on that perilous ride she won my confidence which 
she never forfeited later by either stumbling or falling. 
It was two hours after we sighted the pueblo when we 
gained the floor of the valley, forded the stream, which 
proved to be a foaming torrent reaching to my mule's 
belly, and some thirty feet across, and entered the small, 
ruined pueblo of Huahuapan, where I received a wel- 
come from my friend Don Alfredo and his wife, truly 
Californian in its affectionate fervor. 

Being but human, I now made light of the difficulties 
through which I lately had passed, and even refrained 
from mentioning my distrust of the fiddler. Indeed I 
scarcely gave him a thought in the pleasure and wonder 
of this meeting. My friends had started from San 
Francisco, I from Boston, and after journeying three 
thousand miles on opposite sides of the continent, our 
routes had converged and at last met in this isolated, 
semi-savage pueblo, four and a half days on mule-back 
from a steamboat or a railroad, with cordones or ranges, 
ten thousand feet high, dividing us from both. As I 
am a truthful man, I will confess that we were led on 
this hard and perilous journey by the prospect of untold 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 39 

riches in the old, abandoned mines of the Huahuapan 
district, 

Don Alfredo and his wife had reached the pueblo 
several weeks before my arrival, and I was amazed to 
find them engaged in living and working in genuine 
American fashion. He had already sampled and assayed 
the ore from the various old workings, and had thirty 
odd peones in two different prospects, which he said we 
would take a look at on the next morning. 

Dona Marciana, as the people styled her, had been 
busily employed in making a home. The first requisite 
was a roof, but this was hard to find in a place where 
roofs were, as a rule, in the last stages of collapse. 
Fortunately a whole one was found and the owner was 
willing to rent. It covered one enormous room, 
plastered outside and in with adobe mud; the floor was 
adobe and there was one window with wooden bars and 
a door. She had never thought much of whitewash 
before, but one learns to appreciate the humblest agents, 
when they are hard to get. To obtain whitewash, an 
Indian had to be despatched into the mountains with 
burros to fetch the lime. It took him two days. Then 
he had to mix the stuff and make a sort of mop to 
daub it on with, which took another day. Thus a week 
passed, but at the end the room was snow white from 
base to ceiling, and no sala, frescoed by a master, was 
ever hailed with more delight. The room was large, 
some twenty by forty feet. One end was converted 
into a kitchen. There was an American cookstove, and 
when its fame went abroad, all the women of the pueblo 
came and crouched about it in mute admiration. Until 
then they had held off, but the cooking machine of the 
white woman was more than their curiosity could with- 
stand. The center was the dining-room, with a table 



40 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

covered with enamel cloth, and the other end served for 
a bedroom. Among the unwelcome visitors the people 
told her she might expect were pulgas (fleas) chinches 
(bedbugs) both with wings and without, alacranes, 
tarantulas, scorpions, centipedes and sancudas (mosqui- 
toes). Accordingly the bed was provided with a stout 
netting and each foot stood in a can of petroled. There 
was no floor covering, beyond a mat near the bed. An 
adobe floor grows hard and smooth with constant 
sprinkling and sweeping. The window was left uncov- 
ered, save for a mosquito netting. There were four 
blank, white walls and these she converted into things 
of beauty. Her friends had already begun sending 
magazines and pictorials, and in due time these arrived, 
borne over the mountains on the shoulder of a peon, 
who declared the American's correspondencia was too 
heavy. 

In this day of elaborate illustration, given a plenty of 
papers and magazines, a good white background, and an 
eye for the beautiful, and wall decoration is assured. It 
was a delightful room. The guitar and mandolin had a 
corner to themselves ; there were good-looking, straight- 
legged oak chairs covered with hide, and hammocks hung 
just outside the door, where burros and pigs came peril- 
ously near. 

Being worn with my travels I soon inquired for my 
bed, and Don Alfredo led me to the assay office, where 
I was to sleep. We left Dona Marciana engaged in the 
remarkable enterprise, in Mexico, of making American 
bread; and to my knowledge for a year, that camp was 
never without it. Of course she had Indian servants, 
but it takes time to teach the Indian. 

But Indian women can teach as well. From them she 
learned to do a wonderful sort of lace work, finer than 




The pet burro 




An old church made into an American home 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 43 

the finest cobwebs. She painted a little, read a great 
deal, and attended religiously to her large correspon- 
dence. Writing to one's friends gets to be a religion 
in lonely places. At first the mail came once a week, 
and its coming was anxiously awaited. Then the rains 
came, the Indian who brought it had to make a tremen- 
dous detour to avoid the torrents, and its arrival became 
a fortnightly event. That Indian mail carrier stood high 
in Dona Marciana's favor. When he came, wet to the 
skin, but with a fat sack of letters and papers on his 
back, he must first have hot coffee and something to 
eat, before she would consent to distribute the mail. 
Every letter was worth its weight in gold. Why can't 
we realize, who love to receive letters, that one from us 
means just as much to somebody else? 

Dona Marciana loved pets. She had a mule, a trick 
burro, a cow, several dogs and a pair of rabbits, besides 
doves and chickens. But the mountains abound in 
coyotes, foxes, opossums, hawks, snakes and gigantic 
lizards, and every one has a fondness for young doves 
and chickens. So she learned to shoot a rifle ; and many 
were the trophies that adorned her walls, recalling the 
death of various marauders despatched by her own hand. 
Then she took photographs : amateurs, who have every 
convenience at hand for their work, can fancy what 
photography means, in a spot where hypo is precious 
as diamond dust and developer must be used again and 
again; where every drop of water is carried from the 
river on women's shoulders, and where a dark room can 
only be obtained by waiting for a dark night. 

The people contributed to her amusement. Occasion- 
ally the women assembled and went in solemn procession 
to visit her. A dozen would file in and range themselves 
about the room, crouching on the floor, when there were 
3 



44 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

no chairs or boxes left to ofifer. There they sat, de- 
vouring every article in sight with their eyes, occasionally 
exchanging a whispered word or two, and then took 
their departure, as solemnly as they had come. At first, 
the intercourse between the hostess and her guests was 
limited to the ceremonious handshaking; but she even- 
tually came to understand their odd dialect, which is a 
curious corruption of Spanish. They showed their im- 
itative genius in trying in their rude way, to copy her 
clothing, and soon every woman among them rejoiced 
in an apron, which had hitherto been unknown. There 
was also a great demand for shoes, and many a dusky 
matron suffered untold torture, crowding her sturdy feet 
into wretched, high-heeled, pointed-toed, shiny Mexican 
shoes, that made her hobble where before she had glided, 
nimble as a cat. These luckily were discarded, when the 
women went, night and morning, to bring water from 
the river, tripping lightly over the sharp rocks, with a 
huge olla of water deftly balanced on the head, or held 
on one shoulder. 

Dona Marciana had in her possession one article, that 
the people regarded as a sort of fetish. It was a small, 
highly polished medicine chest. Shortly after her ar- 
rival, a woman who had been very ill, was cured by a 
remedy taken from that chest. News of the magic went 
abroad and it was said that the c a jit a bonita (beautiful 
little box) held a sure cure for every ill that flesh was 
heir to. The Indians themselves still preserve con- 
siderable knowledge of medicinal plants. In fact there 
is not a weed nor a flower to which they do not assign 
some virtue. This, they will tell you, is good for head- 
ache; this for a cough; this flower cures snake-bite, and 
the leaves of that tree will stop bleeding. The people of 
the pueblo, however, forsook their own medicines, when 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 45 

the fame of the cajita bonita went abroad. Every man, 
woman or child, with an ache or pain came to Doiia 
Marciana to solicit medicina. Now medicine, in the 
mountains of Mexico, is even more precious than hypo- 
sulph, and one never knows when it may be needed badly. 
She was willing to give if the case was serious, and al- 
ways kept a stock of lint and bandages on hand in the 
event of an accident in the mines ; but this perpetual cry 
for medicina was out of all reason. Finally she hit on 
a plan. She adopted the water cure. When a man 
came with a sprain, ■ she sent him to hold the injured 
member in the river. Hot water was prescribed for this 
ache, and cold water for that. The patients obeyed, and 
almost always found relief. It was most conducive to 
cleanliness and a vast saving in medicina. The most 
remarkable cure was of a man, apparently in the last 
stages of consumption, and filthy beyond words. He 
was advised to bathe in the river and told that if he 
bathed often enough, he would get well. Soon after- 
wards, he was seen in the river. The next day and the 
next found him still bathing, and it got so that at any 
time of day he could be found, soaking in some shallow 
pool. Strange as it may seem, he began to get better. 
He ate more, took on flesh, and in a month was as able 
to work as any peon about the place. 

What with the water cure and the cajita bonita, which 
was resorted to in extreme cases. Dona Marciana came 
to be greatly revered by the people, and many were the 
humble offerings they brought her. When there was a 
dance and the girls and young men were all assembled, 
they came to her door with lighted torches ; and the 
giver of the haile led each girl up in turn to salute her. 
Then they went and danced till daybreak. Sometimes 
she would signify her wish to see one of their dances. 



46 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

and a young man would bring his novia (sweetheart) 
and together they would dance the jarabe till both were 
exhausted. Or perhaps she would request one of her 
favorite pieces, and they would sit in the moonlit corral, 
strumming guitar and mandolin, until they were sur- 
rounded by dark forms. The women would come and 
crouch on the ground, with their children in their arms. 
The men would stand motionless in the shadow. Not a 
sound disturbed the performance except an adventure- 
some pig perhaps, or a sad-voiced burro, protesting from 
the mountain-side. 

It is truly said that the woman is the natural home- 
maker. But Dona Marciana, it seemed to me, had more 
to make than the woman usually has. She not only made 
a home, but in her mysterious woman-way she filled it 
with happiness, which overflowed and got into the homes 
of the people. I have no doubt that an appreciable 
factor in her plan was her insistence, in this outlandish 
place which was five days from a yeast-cake, on con- 
stantly providing her household with American bread. 

The morning after my arrival, Don Alfredo invited 
me to a swim before breakfast, telling me I had only to 
don a pair of overalls over my pajamas, and take my 
underclothing along. I found the pueblo even more 
dejected in appearance than it had seemed the night be- 
fore. There were not over three hundred souls in all, 
and the early abandonment of the mines, with the en- 
suing misery, had induced in the people a dull and hope- 
less apathy. Our advent had somewhat aroused them, 
and we had already employed over thirty of their men. 
They were civil in their greetings, but for any outward 
expression on their part, we might always have lived 
among them. This again was Mexico's psychology. A 
plunge in the river, which was crystal-clear and very 




The living-room 




The table was covered with enamel cloth 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 49 

cold, the sun not having yet touched it, proved a fine 
tonic. Again I experienced the complete refreshment 
of nerves and body imparted by Mexico's mountains. 
We breakfasted hurriedly, for our mules v^^ere waiting 
at the door, and before us was the never-failing thrill 
of a first look at the face of the mine. Many a rich 
bonanza, ere now, has been opened up by the night 
shift. 

The scene that met my eyes, as we quitted the pueblo 
on our mules, was inspiring as the town itself was de- 
pressing. The valley which lay five thousand feet above 
the sea was perhaps a mile long, and enclosed by pine- 
clad mountains, whose mean altitude was about ten 
thousand feet. On their heights appeared, amid the 
glistening pines, such wondrous formations in red sand- 
stone as to give at first the impression that they were 
fashioned by man. The intense blue of the heavens, the 
fragrant, balmy air, and the profusion of bright birds 
and flowers made the valley seem a paradise. And be- 
yond all this scenic enchantment was the ever-present 
dream of the mines, with their illimitable promise of 
riches. This was the dream that cast its glamour over 
the beautiful valley, where the very light seemed golden. 
After an hour's ride we reached the tunnel, where the 
men were at work. A pleasurable excitement was in 
the air. Soon the foreman, who was an American, ap- 
peared with a broad smile and told Don Alfredo that 
the last blast had opened up a vein of high-grade ore. 
He was as happy as possible and wanted to wager that 
an assay would show it to be very rich metal, with a 
high percentage of gold. The peones, too, had caught 
the infection and laughed and sang, their lithe, nude 
bodies glistening with sweat as they toiled from the 
mine, bearing on their backs great leather sacks filled 



50 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

with waste. This they emptied on the dump and trotted 
in for more. The peones, hke all the workmen, knew 
that rich mines meant a good living for them and their 
families. 

Leaving our mules, we were provided by the fore- 
man with lights, and with him traversed the long tunnel 
until we came to the face, where the barrateros were 
drilling with steel barras or drills, preparatory to putting 
in another charge of dynamite. These men were of 
higher skill and intelligence than the peones, who merely 
carried the ore and dirt from the mine. They were 
serious and dignified, and their manifest satisfaction 
at the appearance of the vein was correspondingly im- 
pressive. Don Alfredo took some samples of ore, and 
our curiosity was high to see what they would assay. 
Jumping upon our mules, we sent them racing down 
the trail, and knowing that a feed of corn awaited them, 
they carried us back to camp in less than half the time 
it took to reach the mines. We now started a fire in 
the assay-furnace, crushed the ore and prepared the 
assays, and eagerly watched the result of the fiery test. 
The beads came out as big as small peas. The ore was 
very rich, as the foreman was ready to wager, and it 
carried considerable gold. Ore like that, if it holds out, 
constitutes a bonanza. Doiia Marciana came to exclaim 
and admire, but she also held, woman-like, to the opinion 
that a well-prepared dinner should not be despised, even 
if the mines were in bonanza. After dining, we sought 
our hammocks, for the afternoon siesta. The mountains 
and valley were suffused with a golden haze, which 
merged with our slumbers, and tinged our dreams with 
gold. But the next day brought disillusion. The rich 
find turned out to be only a pocket of ore, and was soon 
exhausted. The mother vein lay further in the moun- 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 51 

tain, the foreman said. It meant running the tunnel a 
Httle further, that was all. Don Alfredo was sanguine, 
like the foreman. It takes a sanguine man to make a 
successful miner. 

So fascinated did I become with this mining life, so 
absorbed in the contemplation of what each day brought 
forth, — the past, which had to do with cities and civili- 
zation, grew dim and unreal, while the present seemed the 
only reality. I even had ceased to think of my ride in 
the mountains and of " Wolf-Face," until one day our 
storekeeper, who spoke a quaintly broken English, re- 
minded me of him. 

" The people were all surprise, that night you arrive," 
he remarked ; " they say you bring one very bad peon." 

"Why bad?" I inquired. 

" Quien sabe ? " he said with a shrug ; " they say he 
has kill some people." 

" What did he kill them for ? " I inquired, trying to ap- 
pear indifferent. 

" For to rob them," replied the storekeeper. " He 
is very bad man. He has — how you say it? — 
corazon de loho." [Heart of a wolf.] 

This bit of information was on the whole rather grati- 
fying; for while I had never communicated my suspi- 
cions regarding " Wolf-Face " to a soul, my opinion of 
him was at last vindicated. 



CHAPTER III 

Stories of Lost Mines: "El Naranjal": How Mines Were 
Lost: Fear and Strange Superstitions of the Indians: Story 
of the Man Who Says He Saw " El Naranjal " : Story of " La 
Providencia " : The Foolish Compadres ; The Life Search of 
Don Modesto. 

OF all the romantic tales heard in this land of 
romance, none are more fascinating than the 
stories of lost mines : of mines that were 
known, long before the War of Independence, to have 
been fabulously rich ; but which have since disappeared, 
together with their Spanish owners, as completely as 
though they never existed. 

It is said by some that when these mines were aban- 
doned by the Spaniards, they were effectually covered 
up ; and that in many instances the owners died without 
divulging their whereabouts. Others say that to this 
day there are Indians living in remote places in the 
mountains, whose fathers worked in these very mines' 
and who could show them up if they would. There 
was an old superstition among the Indians, doubtless 
founded on the threats of their masters, that to betray 
the locality of an ancient mine would bring certain 
death; and in some instances this belief still exists. 
Mexico abounds in old mines that were worked cen- 
turies ago, and in ruined haciendas, whose beginnings the 
people themselves know nothing about. They are en- 
countered in most unlocked for and almost inaccessible 

52 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 53 

places ; and it is not improbable that many more exist, 
to be discovered in the future. 

One of the most famous and long-sought-for old 
Spanish mines, in this middle-western part of Durango 
is "El Naranjal " (the Orangery) which was reputed 
to be a big gold producer. Long after the Revolution, 
when mining in this section was revived by foreign 
capital, reports were rife about this wonderful mine; 
and yet no one knew just where it was. Many had heard 
it described by their fathers or grandfathers, and all 
agreed on one point ; that the hacienda was surrounded 
by a large orange orchard (naranjal) from which the 
mine took its name. While it is hard to believe that 
such a place, which must have employed many peones, 
could be actually lost, if we consider the years during 
which all industry was paralyzed by continued wars, 
together with the apathy of the Indians, and the nomad 
existence of the average mining peon, it is not impos- 
sible. 

Many are the exploring parties, equipped by wealthy 
mine owners, that have gone in search of "El Naran- 
jal " : many the supposed clues, such as traces of gold 
in a mountain stream, or a piece of rich quartz on the 
trail, that have been followed for weeks, only to end in 
disappointment. " El Naranjal," to all intents and pur- 
poses, existed only in the imagination of the people, who 
still talked about it as confidently as though it were 
an established fact. Their stories always held a pe- 
culiar fascination for me. It was not so much the 
hidden treasure as the old hacienda itself that excited 
my imagination. I often pictured the ruined buildings 
and the deserted chapel, whose bell had been silent for a 
century, save for a muffled note perhaps that fell from 
it on stormy nights; with no sign of life save the bats 



54 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

that flitted in and out at nightfall, and with the 
orange trees growing thicker and taller, shutting it more 
and more away from the world. 

So one day when a man said to me, " I have seen 
' El Naranjal,' I stared at him in amazement for fully 
a minute, before I could believe my senses. Then I 
passed him my pocket flask, offered him a cigarro and 
waited for him to continue. He was a character, such 
as you will find only in a mining camp : half-Mexican- 
ized, through long residence in the country; always 
threatening to leave it, yet never leaving; always ex- 
pecting to strike it rich and never striking it. 

" Yes," he went on, " I have seen * El Naranjal.' It 
happened this way, I had been prospecting all summer 
near an old pueblo north of Durango, and was returning 
to the city for the holidays. The first night out, I came 
to a lone Indian rancho about sundown, and asked if 
I could sleep there. The owner, an old white-haired 
fellow, lived alone and as the road was seldom traveled, 
he seemed rather glad to see me. I had with me a 
couple of flasks of Scotch whisky, and when we 
had made a supper on beans and tortillas, I got out 
one of the bottles and after a number of pulls, he be- 
came exceedingly friendly. The talk turned on old 
mines, and he finally told me that he knew where there 
was a very rich one, with a ruined hacienda. 

" He said it was during a war, probably the French 
intervention, and that the government had sent soldiers 
into the mountains after recruits. He took what cattle 
he had and drove them over the mountains and down 
the other side. At the bottom of the canon beyond, 
which he had reached by following an old trail, he came 
on an abandoned hacienda. The mine, which was close 
by, had been worked extensively; and he picked up a 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 55 

piece of rock on the dump, with chunks of pure gold, as 
yellow as the oranges. I questioned him more closely. 
He said there were many orange trees and that they 
were very old; and then I felt satisfied he had seen the 
lost Naranjal. I asked him if he would take me there ; 
but he replied evasively and became very reticent, so the 
subject dropped. 

" The next morning I waited anxiously for him to 
refer to it again, but he said never a word; and my 
experience with Indians had taught me never to try forc- 
ing their hand. The old fellow had treated me well, 
and as I was about to leave, I gave him the flask, which 
still had a little whisky left. His eyes glistened with de- 
light and he went and put it carefully inside an ancient 
chest made of rawhide, that stood in the corner. Re- 
turning he handed me, without speaking, a piece of rock. 
Instinctively I knew it was the one he had picked up 
on the ore-dump. I held it to the light and saw gold 
nuggets, as big as the end of my little finger. 

" I looked at the old man and waited for him to 
speak. Instead he took my arm and led me into the 
corral. Pointing to the mountains, he asked if I saw 
a peak that looked like a big piloncillo (conical loaf of 
sugar). On my answering in the affirmative, he said 
the trail he had followed crossed at that point. He was 
silent for a while as though thinking deeply. At last 
he said that if I wanted to see the old mine he would 
go with me as far as the peak, and start me on the right 
trail. Beyond that point, he himself would not go. He 
said there were bears and tigers on the other side, and 
that I would need to go well armed and with provisions 
for a week or more. 

" Impressed as I was by what he had told me, I was 
in no position to profit by it. I was alone, with no 



56 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

chance of getting aid inside of five days and without 
sufficient money to secure an outfit in any event. I 
determined, however, to remember the peak and that 
some day I would return and look for the mine. I 
cautioned the old man not to mention it to any one 
else. He looked at me gravely and replied that he was, 
a youth at the time he made the discovery, and that I 
was the first one he had ever told. Promising him I 
would return, I set out for Durango. 

" When I arrived, I learned that the men I had been 
working for had lost faith in the prospect and did not 
need my services any longer. I tried in vain to interest 
several mining men in ' El Naranjal.' They all heard 
me through, but had invariably too many irons in the 
fire already, to start on such a wild-goose chase, as they 
termed it; and I was at last compelled to go to work 
from actual necessity. Years went by and while I never 
forgot the old Indian's story I could never quite see my 
way clear to follow it up. Yes, I am a drinking man, a 
heavy one at times, like nearly all the old stagers; and 
often the money went in a spree that might have helped 
me to ' El Naranjal ' and a fortune. It got so finally, 
that when I told the story people only laughed. I re- 
gretted a hundred times that I had not gotten possession 
of the rock, by hook or crook. The old man seemed 
loth to part with it, and at the time I did n't stop to 
consider the importance of having it to show. 

" It was ten years later, when at last I saw my chance, 
I had been prospecting for some rich Americans at a 
point that I believed to be within at most four days' ride 
of the Indian's rancho. I was working some twenty 
odd peones and had been left in full control. The pros- 
pect looked more and more dubious and I had no mind 
to continue. Neither had I a mind to throw up the 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 57 

sponge. The story of the lost ' Naranjal ' haunted 
me. I thought of it by day and at last one night, in a 
dream, I saw as plain as I see you, the old hacienda 
with the orange trees growing all about it. The next day 
I picked out four of my best men, took what money 
I had on hand and prepared to hit the trail. Of course 
I did wrong to go without consulting my employers, 
but I had ' El Naranjal ' on the brain. Besides I felt 
sure of success. After we had fairly started, I began 
to feel anxious about my old Indian. Was he living 
after all these years? I wondered. 

" The journey proved longer than I had figured on, 
but the night of the fifth day, just as I was wondering 
if I could have missed the trail, I saw the familiar 
rancho. I went to the door with a beating heart and was 
met by a middle-aged man, whom I saw at once was 
too young to be my former friend. He proved to be his 
brother, and said the aged Indian had been dead several 
years, though he could not tell how many. I spent the 
night at the rancho and in course of conversation 
touched on old mines, but he professed the densest 
ignorance regarding them. At last I asked him point 
blank if his brother had never told him of his discovery, 
adding that he had not only told me of it, but offered 
to direct me to the place. For a second he eyed me 
suspiciously. Then going to the old chest, which I re- 
membered only too well he took from it a small, black 
flask and holding it up before me, asked if it was mine. 
For a moment I was puzzled. Then like a flash it came 
to me, that I had given the old Indian what little liquor 
it contained on leaving him. I answered that it had 
once been mine, but that I had given it to his brother. 
At that he became voluble for an Indian. He said his 
brother had always looked for my return and had talked 



58 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

of me to the last, instructing him, in case I did come, 
to go with me to the peak of the mountain, and show 
me the old trail. I was wild to be off and finally per- 
suaded him to start with us the next morning. 

" It was near sunset the next day when we reached 
the cone-shaped peak, and the old man got off his mule 
and began scanning the slope on the other side. At 
length he gave a satisfied grunt and holding aside the 
tall grass, pointed to the faint semblance of a trail. I 
was to follow that trail two or three days, he said, and I 
should see the hacienda. He then put out his hand. 
Greatly surprised, I pressed him to pass the night with 
us ; but he steadfastly refused, and with one backward 
glance, that had in it something of dread, in the direc- 
tion of the abandoned trail, he bade me ' Godspeed ' 
and disappeared in the darkness. I was too excited to 
sleep and finally got up and sat by the fire till day- 
break. We started as soon as it was light and then 
began one of the hardest jobs I had ever undertaken. 
It is not always a simple matter to keep on a trail that 
is in constant use ; and when it comes to one that has 
not been used for half a century or more it is next to 
impossible. Sometimes we lost it and were an hour 
beating about in the brush, before we found it again. 
We had to walk, as the animals were as much at sea 
as we were ; and we frequently had to cut our way 
through dense growths of chaparral. Sunset found us 
on a bare ledge of rocks, where the trail disappeared, 
and there was nothing to do but camp there for the 
night. 

" At daybreak we began hunting for the trail, and 
the men had declared repeatedly there was an end of it 
when I discovered it, doubling on itself and leading 
through the brush again. I sent two men ahead with 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 59 

machetes to make a path, and we followed slowly, leading 
the animals. Night found us apparently no nearer our 
goal. We were still descending the mountain, and on 
every hand stretched the limitless chaparral. I have 
been in lonely places, but never one like that. The old 
man had talked of bears and tigers. There was abso- 
lutely not a sign of life, not even a bird save an oc- 
casional vulture, sailing overhead. The men looked 
downcast and after supper one of them came and asked 
me to turn back. He said his companions were all 
triste (sad) and 'afraid we were going to the death.' 
I asked him why they thought so and he replied be- 
cause the vultures had followed us for two days. For 
answer I told him to make ready for an early start and 
assured him we should make it in one day more. Then 
I rolled myself in my blankets. 

" When I woke it was not yet light, but before I had 
actually opened my eyes, I knew I was alone. I called 
out but there was no reply. The cowards, satisfied that 
I would not turn back, had deserted me in the night; 
and when daylight came, I found they had taken the 
best part of the provisions. I cursed them till I was 
tired out, and swore with every oath that I would never 
give up till I had seen the mine, and that if I failed, the 
vultures were welcome to my carcass. Then I started 
again, hewing my way with a machete, that had luckily 
been left behind. I kept on all day, not even stopping to 
eat and had about decided to give it up until the follow- 
ing morning, when I suddenly came to a part of the 
slope that seemed a wide ledge of red sandstone. It 
was devoid of vegetation and the trail was sharply de- 
fined, being worn deep in the sandy formation. I de- 
termined to push on, relying on my mule to keep on 
the trail. 



6o THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

" It was now so dark I could not see four feet ahead. 
My mule seemed nervous and several times stood stock- 
still. I got off repeatedly and groped about in the dark- 
ness, to make sure I was still on the trail. I had just 
gotten into the saddle and ridden perhaps five rods 
further, when she came to a sudden standstill, snorted 
and began to tremble. I urged her forward but she 
reared and tried to bolt up the mountain. I turned her 
about and forced her on a few steps, when she stopped 
again and showed every sign of extreme terror. Dis- 
mounting I took a step forward, retaining my hold on 
her neck and it was well I did, for I found myself 
stepping into space, and only saved myself by hanging 
on to the mule. I had used my last match and there 
was nothing to do but stay my hunger as best I could 
and wait for daylight. It was evident that I had reached 
some sort of a jumping-off place; how much of a one I 
should know in the morning. 

" When I awoke the sun was high. I had slept from 
sheer exhaustion, but I was provoked at finding it broad 
daylight. It was fortunate for me that it was though, 
for as I sprang up and started forward, I saw that I 
was near the edge of a precipice ; and the thought of 
my close shave made me feel hot and cold by turns. 
I crept nearer and saw that the trail ran to the very 
edge of the cliff, which had the appearance of a moun- 
tain that had been sliced off like a loaf of bread. Crawl- 
ing to the edge, I looked over and saw a perpendicular 
descent of thousands of feet, which, instead of sloping 
outward at the base, receded; and at either side, as far 
as I could see, was the same precipitous wall. The bot- 
tom of the caiion was four thousand feet belOw. As I 
scanned it hurriedly, a shining line of silver caught my 
eye — a river of course — and there, close beside it, 




The foolish compadre 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 63 

was a clump of bright green foliage, with patches of 
white that could be nothing less than the walls of the 
hacienda. Yes there was ' El Naranjal/ I could have 
sworn it: yet no desert mirage was ever more inacces- 
sible. On every hand towered those forbidding cliffs. 
My provisions were exhausted. My mule was ready to 
drop in her tracks. I knew that unless I turned back 
and made the rancho, I should starve to death ; on look- 
ing up I saw the vultures still sailing overhead. I sat 
for hours, gazing at that patch of green, till I could 
almost see the outlines of the buildings. Once I thought 
I heard the chime of a bell. At last, aroused by the 
burning sun, I took one last look and started sadly up 
the mountain, dragging my mule after me. Even then I 
was not satisfied to go, but turned again and again, till 
I could no longer see the bottom of the cafion. 

" Before night, my mule lay down and refused to stir. 
I took off the saddle and left her. After that I lost 
sight of the vultures. Weary as I was, the ascent was 
much quicker than going the other way and after three 
days of terrible suffering, I reached the rancho, only to 
find it deserted. I managed to get into the house where 
I found a little corn. That night I chewed corn and 
drank water. The next day I made tortillas and then 
set out for Durango. Falling in with some freighters, I 
gladly traveled with them, and part of the way had a 
mule to ride. When I reached the city, I wrote a full 
account of my experience to my employers. I had some 
doubt as to whether they would believe me, and while 
waiting for an answer, my old enemy got the best of 
me and I went on a spree. It ended in an attack of 
fever and when I came to my senses two letters were 
handed me. The first one requested me to come at once ; 
the second said they had heard of my goings on and 
4 



64 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

that they washed their hands of me. I told my story 
again and again, but no one took any stock in it and so 
for the second time, I was obliged to give the thing up. 
I shall have one more try at it though : I am waiting for 
a man now who has promised me an outfit, and you 
may be sure there will be plenty of rope to get down 
over those cliffs with. I'm going to find ' El Naranjal ' 
or die trying. Who knows ! You may see me on Easy 
Street yet ! " 

This is the story of the man who says he has seen 
" El Naranjal." Will he yet reach it and " Easy 
Street " ? Who knows ? Meantime the ancient hacienda 
sleeps peacefully among the orange trees, and the golden 
nuggets, yellow as the shining fruit, lie hidden away in 
the dark chambers of the old mine. 

Another lost mine, of intense interest to us, was right 
in the Huahuapan district. Its name was " La Provi- 
dencia." It belonged to Don Modesto, the grandee of 
the pueblo, who himself discovered it, when a boy. By 
agreement with his heirs, if uncovered by our peones, 
it belonged to us and we should be — never mind — 
here is the story. 

When Don Modesto found " La Providencia " he was 
not even looking for it. He was searching for stray 
burros and found a mine instead. Years afterwards, 
when he did look for it, he couldn't find it; and he 
spent the rest of his life in the search. He died, a 
tremulous, white-haired old man; but he had never for 
an instant abandoned the hope of finding " La Provi- 
dencia " again ; and he willed the mine together with all 
his other belongings to his youngest son Juan, who wore 
white cotton clothes and sandals, did n't know his own 
name when he saw it written, and was called tonto 
(foolish) by the rest of the family. 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 65 

Juan liked the little rancho with its cows and pigs well 
enough ; but when it came to the mine, he never even 
gave it a second thought. His experience in mining 
consisted in carrying out rocks in a heavy sack, like any 
beast of burden ; and he was glad enough to have it over 
with. His brothers and sisters, all except Tonia, who 
like himself was not over-bright, had married and left 
the old house years before. They envied Juan the 
rancho, and the cows and pigs, but not the mine. Never- 
theless, Juan was and is the ostensible owner of " La 
Providencia," one of the richest mines of its size the 
country has ever known, which was found by his father 
Don Modesto, then a boy, and lost by his grandfather 
Don Domingo. 

To begin at the beginning, when Don Modesto was 
a boy, he lived in this pueblo. In addition to his father's 
house, there were perhaps some twenty others ; the peo- 
ple were all so poor, they lived on corn and beans, and 
sometimes there was not enough of those. 

When corn and beans were plenty, the men would put 
a few sacks on their burros and take them off over the 
mountains, to trade for luxuries such as salt, sugar and 
chocolate. ■ These trips were of rare occurrence and 
the pueblo was practically unknown, until one day all 
this was changed by Don Modesto. His father, Don 
Domingo, sent him in search of some stray burros and he 
spent the day climbing about among the rocks. As he 
was trotting along with guarache shod feet, he stubbed 
his toe on a rock and while pretty well hardened to 
stubbing, this time it hurt; in boyish wrath he picked 
up the rock and started to throw it over the cliff. But 
it was a pretty rock, all blue and green, with thin, white 
scales on it, that glistened like the cobwebs on the grass, 
when the sun touches them. And there were little 



66 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

bright yellow specks, the color of the candlesticks in the 
church. He concluded to keep it and as he saw no 
signs of the burros he went home, expecting at least a 
scolding, and to be started on a further search before 
daybreak. 

When Don Domingo saw the rock in the boy's hand, 
he forgot all about burros. Don Domingo had once 
worked in a mine and he knew good metal when he saw 
it. The White scales, that looked like cobwebs, were 
native silver ; and the yellow specks tiny particles of gold. 

Sure enough, the boy had to start before daybreak 
the next morning ; but Don Domingo went with him and 
told him to go straight to the place where he had stubbed 
his toe. Luckily for him he remembered and led Don 
Domingo there just as the sun rose. There was plenty 
more rock like the first and that was the beginning of 
" La Providencia." Don Domingo named the mine. 
[He was a good Catholic and Providence had seen fit, in 
the midst of his poverty, to send him untold riches. He 
was a generous man and everyone's friend. Nearly 
every other man in the village was his conipadre, and 
those who were not compadres were relatives. He gave 
each one a labor in the new mine, which meant the 
privilege to take out all the metal he could. Many of 
the compadres started tunnels of their own, lower down 
the ledge, and the side of the mountain looked like a 
great beehive with the workers toiling in and out, some- 
times laden with waste but oftener with rich metal. 
Rude earthen furnaces were constructed in the village 
and the men melted the ore and carried the big chunks 
of silver over the mountains to the cities, returning with 
food and clothing, and with their saddle bags filled with 
big silver dollars. Of course the metal brought more 
than the ordinary price of silver, as it carried gold: the 




He kept his peons at work in the mine 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 69 

compadres never knew just how much gold, nor did they 
care. A hundred and odd big, silver dollars were good 
enough, for a few hours' work at the mine and fourteen 
days' ride in the mountains. One did n't have to work 
very hard or very often at that rate ; for where was the 
use in filling all the jars in the house with silver dollars? 

The women began to wear silks and satins and huge 
gold earrings, and the men had silver buttons on their 
trousers. Aside from this and a decided affluence in 
way of corn, beans and cigarros, there was slight change 
in the life of the pueblo. The men worked a little at. 
their labores, and ate and smoked and slept a great deal. 
As for the mine, that of course would last forever. The 
only one who made any extra effort to get the big, silver 
dollars, was Don Domingo. I suspect that Don Do- 
mingo had good blood in him. Everything he did goes 
to show it. He kept his peones at work in the mine 
even when there was plenty of corn and beans ; and when 
every jar was filled with dollars, he had a great box 
made, of rawhide, with figures of animals and birds 
worked on the cover. The box was filled too, and the 
people will tell you to this day how any of Don Do- 
mingo's friends were at liberty to help themselves. The 
box still stands in the old house of Don Modesto, but 
there are no dollars in it now: only beans, and they 
often get so low you can see the bottom. 

Don Domingo kept getting out more metal and bring- 
ing home more silver dollars. He sent Don Modesto 
away to school and gave him all the money he could 
spend. He built himself a bigger house with a paved 
court and a heavy door to close at night such as he had 
seen in the cities. He built a high wall about the church 
and another around the graveyard; and had a big, stone 
tomb made, which was destined to receive his own re- 



70 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

mains. All this cost money and besides his relatives 
came from far and near to visit him: and while they 
all came very poor, they never went away without a 
goodly supply of dollars. So although the rawhide box 
was kept filled, Don Domingo never found it necessary 
to make another. Gradually the fame of the mine went 
abroad, and people came flocking into the pueblo, though 
not in the way that Northern people flock to a mining 
region. Perhaps drifting is a better word. All who 
were not compadres of Don Domingo's, were compadres 
of his compadres ; and all got labores in " La Provi- 
dencia." 

Don Modesto, meantime, remained away at college, 
where he learned a little and squandered a great deal. 
Don Domingo kept his peones at work in the mine and 
tried to incite his compadres to follow his example; but 
they grew lazier and lazier day by day, and finally, strik- 
ing a body of ore that was not quite so rich as formerly, 
began taking out the pillars that were rich, but that 
should have been left to support the roofs of their tun- 
nels. When Don Domingo learned this, he was furious 
and threatened to drive them from their labores. They 
promised him not to take out another pillar, but the 
damage was already done. 

There are two rainy seasons in Mexico ; one during the 
summer months, when it pours for a brief space daily 
and is followed by sunshine and budding flowers and a 
brighter green on grass and tree. The other falls in the 
winter, anywhere from December to March or even 
April. In the mountains the clouds hang low for days, 
threatening, lowering and then suddenly, without warn- 
ing, the storm breaks and sweeps everything before it. 
What was but now a tiny stream becomes a raging tor- 
rent. Waterfalls spring into existence where they have 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 71 

never been before. Trees are torn up by the roots and 
huge boulders are swept along. These are the storms 
that change the courses of rivers in a night, hollow out 
still deeper the canons and frequently alter the entire ap- 
pearance of the country. Such a storm struck the 
pueblo one dark December morning. The men were all 
safe in their houses. They had been expecting it and 
had not gone to their labores for days. More water fell 
than they had ever seen before. The little river flooded 
its banks and threatened to carry away the pueblo. Few 
of the houses were waterproof. When one has plenty 
of corn and beans and money to buy more, what does it 
matter if the roof lacks a shingle or two? 

The storm raged for two days and two nights and 
then ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The third 
morning dawned, soft and mild as a northern June, and 
Don Domingo, who was tired of staying in his house, 
even though it was a good one, ordered his mule saddled 
and set out for the mine, followed by his peones. A 
number of the compadres, who had eaten more than usual 
during their enforced stay indoors and discovered that 
their supply of dollars was getting lower, decided to re- 
turn to their work as well. They accordingly sauntered 
leisurely up the mountain, with Don Domingo in the 
lead. He rather lorded it over the others, and always 
wore a big hat with lots of silver on it, pantalones with 
silver buttons, and shoes. I have heard Don Modesto 
describe him as he rode on his mule at the head of the 
procession, going back to take more wealth from " La 
Providencia." 

As Don Domingo was in the lead, he was the first to 
see that something was wrong. He was a bit in ad- 
vance of the others, and he thought the ground looked 
strange. Suddenly he came to the top of a little rise 



^2 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

and stopped his mule in dismay. Before him was an 
unfamiliar country. Trees were twisted and torn up 
bodily ; there were great rocks that he did not know and 
at his feet tumbled a noisy mountain stream. For a 
moment he thought he was dreaming. He gazed wildly 
about him, and then turning his mule, went flying back 
towards the amazed compadres screaming, " It is lost ! 
The mine is lost ! " They stared at him in bewilder- 
ment and then at the strange scene before them. The 
only familiar landmarks were the distant mountains. 
All the rest was changed. The trail, the labores, every 
vestige of the mine had disappeared. 

The first that Don Modesto knew of the catastrophe 
was when he was summoned home from school. He 
knew something was wrong the moment he entered the 
pueblo. All the men looked crestfallen except Don 
Domingo. He, as I have said, had good blood in him, 
and he was determined to find the mine. He had a 
superstitious feeling, that as Don Modesto had first dis- 
covered it, he could find it again; but although they 
went together, that day and many more, they could form 
no definite idea as to what had happened. The fact was 
a portion of the mountain had been washed away and 
the tunnels, lacking pillars which were taken out by the 
lazy compadres, had all caved and been covered up. 

Meantime the compadres sat idly bemoaning their lot. 
They had few dollars left and no heart to look for the 
lost labores. Don Domingo besought them to aid in 
the search and a few of them did, at least while his dol- 
lars held out: but now there was no rich metal to bring 
in more, and before long, not only the big box but the 
jars were empty. Then the compadres fell off and went 
to planting corn and beans again and some went to 
other pueblos; only Don Domingo kept bravely digging 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 'jz 

away on the mountain and Don Modesto helped him. 
There was still a little rancho that produced more corn 
than the family required; and year after year, every 
cent thnt it brought went into those holes in the moun- 
tain. 

At last Don Domingo, now grown very old, took to his 
bed. He was always talking of going back to work 
and discussed it eagerly with Don Modesto, every night 
when the latter returned. His last words, before he 
died, were a parting injunction as to the direction of the 
tunnel. So they carried him to the tomb that he had 
built and paid for, in the days when the chest was full. 
To Don Modesto, he left his indomitable spirit, his 
rancho and — " La Providencia " ; and Don Modesto 
went on with the search. Year after year he grew poorer 
and poorer, as the crops failed or were eaten by insects, 
and he was forced to sell a pig or another cow. He 
married and the children came thick and fast. The 
girls grew up and learned to help the mother, Felipa, 
carrying water and grinding corn. The boys, just as 
soon as they were strong enough to hold a drill or carry 
ore, were sent to work in the tunnel. 

Don Modesto grew old and gray as his father had 
done before him ; always quiet and dignified, respected 
by all the people, never forgetting that his father had 
been the first man of the pueblo, never doubting that 
eventually he should come into his own. One by one 
the sons wearied and deserted him, going to live in other 
parts ; all except his favorite, Canuto, and Juan, the 
youngest, who was only fit to be peon. The daughters, 
too, married and went away, till only Tonia remained to 
help old Felipa. Those were dark days for Don 
Modesto. The mother and daughter went barefooted 
like the poorest women in the village. Don Modesto 



74 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

still wore shoes, though no one knew how he managed 
it. Perhaps he realized that if he once stooped to 
sandals, the dignity of the family was gone forever. 

By this time there were but two at work in the tunnel 
which had become a labyrinth, crossing and recrossing, 
up and down, and always waste, nothing but waste. 
Canuto and Juan worked together, first with the drill 
and then with the suron. Don Modesto rode the little 
old mule, that had been Don Domingo's, up the moun- 
tain every morning, flushed with hope ; and back again 
at night sad, disappointed, but never actually dis- 
couraged. As for Felipa, she shared his conviction that 
the mine would yet be found. 

When it came time to harvest the corn and beans, 
Juan was sent to the rancho ; and Canuto, who could 
not work alone in the tunnel, posted off to some mining 
camp, and earned more money, to go on with the hunt 
for " La Providencia." It was this that brought the 
final desgracia and broke Don Modesto's heart and 
spirit at the same time. Canuto, though a good boy, was 
a bit wild and fond of mescal. He was also a stout 
friend. One day, his companion at a fiesta was arrested. 
Both had been drinking and he flew to his assistance. 
There was a fight and Canuto was shot to death. 

Don Modesto never recovered from the blow. Neither 
did Felipa, but when the first shock was over, she settled 
again into the old routine and wanted Don Modesto to 
go back to his tunnel. He, poor man, seemed to have 
lost all heart. He would sit for hours with his head 
bowed between his hands, or pace nervously up and 
down the patio, without speaking to a soul. Felipa said 
several times in his hearing, that it worried her to have 
a man about the place all the time, but he didn't seem 
to notice. Juan also took to loafing around home, only 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 75 

going to the rancho occasionally to look at the corn and 
beans. 

Months passed and Don Modesto remained the same. 
When at last the change came, no one knew how to 
account for it. One morning he got up before it was 
light and put on working clothes and sandals just like 
a peon. Felipa was frightened but she, wily old thing, 
pretended to take it as a matter of course and flew about 
with Tonia making an extra batch of tortillas. Don 
Modesto called Juan, told him to get the drills and the 
rest of the mining tools and together they started up the 
mountain, Don Modesto was walking. To be sure he 
only carried one drill, while Juan was loaded like a pack 
animal ; but the mere fact of his carrying anything and 
dressing like a peon set the whole town agog; and the 
people shook their heads and predicted no good would 
come of it. 

When they returned, late that night, Don Modesto's 
eyes shone. With trembling hands he produced some 
pieces of rock and showed them to Felipa. They were 
not much to look at but her practised eye detected silver. 
Yes, he had struck a vein and it was rich metal. He 
was sure he had found it at last. Ah, that Canuto were 
alive now ! and then old Felipa began to cry and wail 
" Adios — Adios ! " just as s_he had when their boy was 
killed. 

She soon stopped crying and began getting supper, 
and before the meal was over all were quite cheerful. 
The next day they went again to the tunnel, and the 
next; and then a burro was driven up and came back 
at night, loaded with ore. The pueblo was wild with 
excitement. Felipa was jubilant and as the other women 
had swarmed into the patio, she began ordering them 
about, setting this one to carrying water and this one 



'jd THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

to grinding corn. Meantime she crouched in the court 
and smoked one cigarro after another. Her face 
was partly muffled in her black shawl, but her old eyes 
had an exultant gleam. Was not " La Providencia " 
found ? 

Don Modesto told Juan to start the fire in the furnace 
and he himself prepared to run the metal. All night 
they worked at the furnace. Tonia, who but half com- 
prehended what had happened, lay down on her mat 
and slept; but Felipa crouched all night in the court, 
where she could see the flames, and smoked. A driz- 
zling rain fell and Don Modesto was drenched to the 
skin but he hardly knew it. When morning came he 
had nearly fifty ounces of silver. He was shaking all 
over when he went to show it to Felipa, partly from 
excitement, but more from cold and exhaustion. Felipa 
was as excited as he was. She told him to lie down, 
while she went to get the breakfast. When she came 
back, she found him hot with fever, tossing and mut- 
tering about " La Providencia " and his dead boy Canuto. 
Felipa sent Juan to the mine for more metal and she 
and Tonia set about doctoring Don Modesto, who grew 
steadily worse. When Juan came home at night, she 
told him to saddle the little mule and go at once to call 
the other children ; to tell them " La Providencia " was; 
found and that Don Modesto was very ill. 

They came fast enough, and inquired for their father 
and the mine in the same breath. Was he very ill — 
was the mine really found? Yes, he was very ill, — 
dying in fact, and perhaps it was just as well. The 
mine was not found at all. It was only a little hilo 
(thread) Don Modesto had run into, and there was no 
more of it. The compadres had worked the second 
burro-load in the furnace but it gave little or nothing. 




The funeral procession 




Prayers in the little church 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 79 

Then they went to the tunnel and looked for them- 
selves. 

This point settled, there was nothing left to do but 
watch Don Modesto die. A hurried search was made 
for a will and not finding one, the brothers and sisters 
got a man who could write, to set down all his posses- 
sions on paper, in case he revived sufficiently to signify 
who was to have them. By this time it was dark and 
they gathered at the bedside. Candles were lighted 
and a woman began rapidly saying the prayers for the 
dying. Felipa crouched motionless at the foot of the 
bed, her head muffled in her black shawl. Tonia was in 
a corner, sobbing aloud, and Juan knelt by his father, 
his poor, simple face streaming with tears. Suddenly an 
old crone set up the death-wail. As her voice shrilled 
it was taken up by the others. The woman prayed 
louder and faster and the oldest son sprang on the bed 
and began winding Don Modesto's left hand and arm 
with long strips of coarse white cloth. He had finished 
the left arm and was well along with the right, when 
Don Modesto opened his eyes. He knew his hour 
had come. He heard the death-wail, saw the wind- 
ing sheet, and still the brave old spirit asserted itself. 
He struggled to raise his head and Juan got on the bed 
back of him and lifted him up. Then some one brought 
the paper and held it close to his eyes. He scanned it 
closely and they knew from his look he understood ; but 
when he came to the end he frowned and tried in vain 
to speak. Then Felipa bent over and whispered, " La 
Providencia ? " He nodded and they remembered they 
had not even put the mine in the will. So the man who 
could write added " La Mina Providencia " and then 
they asked him how he wanted the things divided. This 
time they clearly heard him say " Juan." Was Juan to 



8o THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

have everything they asked in dismay and he nodded 
again. The others were furious but could do nothing; 
so the scribe wrote " to my son Juan " and held out the 
pen to Don Modesto, who looked fretfully at his right 
hand, which was partially wrapped in the grave clothes. 
They had to unwind them and the pen was placed in his 
nerveless fingers. For a moment it looked as though 
he could not sign; then slowly, feebly he began to make 
the elaborate scroll, that he always put under his name 
and that should have come last. They thought his 
strength would fail ; but when the scroll was completed, 
with every dash and flourish that belonged to it, he 
traced his name above it in tremulous characters and fell 
back exhausted against Juan's knee. The oldest son 
began rapidly winding his right hand again, and this time 
Don Modesto did not open his eyes. 

The fifty ounces of silver paid for a burial befitting 
Don Modesto's station ; and Felipa bought yards and 
yards of black calico, with which the compadres fes- 
tooned the front of the house. Don Modesto lay in 
state for three days. He looked very peaceful with his 
silvery hair and beard and a decent suit of black, which 
the women declared Felipa had kept hidden away ever 
since their wedding. On the fourth day, there were 
prayers in the little church, and he was borne up the 
mountain, for the last time, on the shoulders of his 
compadres. The women and children followed, wailing 
and tossing their arms wildly above their heads. A 
tomb had been built of stone, just like Don Domingo's, 
and there Don Modesto sleeps by his father's side. 

Felipa mourned for a time and then, with Indian 
resignation, took up her old life; and Juan, who was 
glad enough to get through carrying ore, went back to 
his corn and beans. On rare occasions, such as his 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 8i 

dia Santo or some special fiesta, he puts on the trousers 
with the silver buttons, that were Don Modesto's, and 
the big hat. Juan cannot endure shoes, and bare, brown 
feet make rather a queer tapering off to so much splen- 
dor; but they don't show much as he lolls within the 
door, smoking his cigarro. Then the people, remember- 
ing the past greatness of the family, tip their hats lazily, 
salute him as " Don Juan " and tell again the story of 
the wonderful mine, that once made the pueblo rich; 
the long-lost " La Providencia." 



CHAPTER IV 

Leaving the Mines: A Last Ride: The Thoughts of a Mozo: 
A Meeting on the Train : A Man is Known by his Shoes : 
Pleasant Experiences in Zacatecas : Arrival at Mexico City : 
Kindness of Mexicans to Strangers : The Best Way to Learn 
Spanish : The Plaza Mayor : Cathedral Towers : Thoughts 
of the Conquest : The Paseo de la Ref orma : A Meeting with 
Diaz. 

OF all the prospects in the Huahuapan district, 
" La Providencia " was our favorite. All the 
traditions of the pueblo, concerning its former 
wealth, centered in that mine. The survivors of the 
family that had owned it, though now very poor, were 
treated with deference by the people ; and they main- 
tained an evident family pride. There seemed slight 
cause to doubt that the mine had existed, or that it 
had been very rich. To this the people all agreed with- 
out dissent. And for tangible evidence that its owner 
had made dogged and courageous efforts to find it, after 
it was lost, there were interminable tunnels, cross-cuts 
and shafts remaining. Into these Don Alfredo put his 
workmen and his money. He believed in " La Provi- 
dencia " and was determined to find out what was inside 
that mountain; he said this knowledge was essential for 
his peace of mind, and he was willing to pay for it. 

Nearly a year passed, and although several very rich 
pockets were found, la veta (the vein) eluded us. In 
some of the other prospects, " blankets " of rich ore came 
to light, but none were continuous. The country gave 

82 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 83 

evidence of gigantic upheavals, w^hich might v^ell have 
broken up the ledges, and this theory coincided with 
that of the older men in the pueblo. I had evolved an 
idea which I jealously guarded. I believed the valley 
too beautiful to offer material wealth as well. It con- 
tinued for me a sort of paradise, and I tried in vain 
to banish the fear that in the end we should be forced, 
by circumstances, to leave it. We had visited other 
camps, where the mines were big producers; but when 
that was said, there was no more to say. There was 
plenty of everything in those camps, food, drink and 
money. But no happiness that I could see! And the 
surroundings were barren and desolate : every vestige of 
green was trampled by the pack-trains carrying out the 
silver. True, there was generous hospitality and the 
comradeship of men of our own race. But in the mines 
even friendship is marred by the feverish lust for gold. 
Returning from these camps, with prosperity strong 
in our nostrils, Don Alfredo and I were at first inclined 
to be gloomy. The ride was usually a matter of a 
day, however, and it was impossible to be gloomy, for 
twelve consecutive hours, in those glorious mountains. 
When we gained the last summit and gazed on the valley 
of Huahuapan, we invariably began praising it for its 
beauty. Don Alfredo would then say with emphasis 
that all it needed, to make it the finest camp in the world, 
was a good mine. If by chance we had left "La Provi- 
dencia" in metal, he would begin planning the survey 
for a pipe-line, and would point out a favorable site for 
a mill. With me, however, the guilty conviction grew 
that it would be impossible to build pipe-lines and tram- 
ways and erect a mill, without hopelessly disfiguring the 
valley. 

When the blow came, it was a sudden one and that 

5 



84 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

was well. Don Alfredo returned alone one day, from 
an extended prospecting tour, and told us that he had 
" denounced " another mine. It was situated in the 
hot country, on the other side of the mountains, and 
was two days' ride from the valley. We decided that 
to break up camp and go at once was the only way. 
We were fond of the people and they of us. We had 
nursed their sick and tended their wounded. And the 
people had long since accepted us. Their thoughtful 
kindnesses to us were unvarying, and between us there, 
had grown a bond of mutual trust. We were sad indeed 
when we bade them good-by and took leave of the valley 
of Huahuapan. That the people were truly sorry too, 
I know. Yet we felt the parting more. They had their 
" matter-of-course " psychology to console them. 

For two days we journeyed coastward, over those 
gigantic ranges, down the western slopes toward the 
Pacific. The new mine was in the State of Sinaloa at 
an altitude of not over fifteen hundred feet. Once ar- 
rived there, Don Alfredo imperturbably went about sur- 
veying, while Dona Marciana, likewise unperturbed, 
again assumed her natural office of homemaker. I felt 
the irresistible desire to travel; to become acquainted 
with Mexico and the Mexican people. The year I had 
spent in the valley with my friends had been a happy 
one. It was comparable amost to rebirth, amid flawless, 
natural environment and with the constant uplift and in- 
spiration of the mountains. The region we were now 
in was commonplace, by comparison, and while the fu- 
ture of the new mine seemed assured, before me stretched 
an unattractive vista of dull monotonous years. The 
present was insistently calling. I knew that beyond the 
mountains was the real Mexico with its opulent cities, 
its splendid architecture, and its wealth of romance and 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 85 

beauty. These were the things which more than gold 
had called me to Mexico. My friends reasoned in vain, 
Don Alfredo particularly dwelling on the fine promise 
of the new mine. The low, hot country palled upon me. 
I was resolved to have a last, long ride through the 
mountains, and then take train for Mexico City. 

The month was May, the rains being close at hand. 
I began preparations for my journey, and at the thought 
of all the strange and delightful experiences before 
me, my animation returned. I had engaged an 
excellent and favorite mozo, but at the last he fell ill 
with fever, and I was forced to take a mozo named 
Antonio, whom I had never liked. He was a superior 
type, quite white, and of good repute as a guide ; but 
he had impressed me as sullen and discontented, and I 
always set store by a cheerful mozo. At last my luggage 
and grub-box were ready. Dona Marciana and her In- 
dian maid had been engaged for days in preparing various: 
comestibles ; and while there was an abundance of 
tortillas, there were also several loaves of American 
bread. 

Don Alfredo, true to California tradition, placed his 
purse at my disposal and endeavored to force upon me 
sundry substantial sums, which I gratefully rejected. I 
had ample funds for at least a year, and I was confident 
I could earn more before they were exhausted. For the 
rest, money borrowed is money to be repaid; and I have 
found it easier to avoid all such dealing. 

It was hard to leave those kind and true friends, but 
I promised that after I had traveled through Mexico I 
would return, and the thought of a not distant reunion 
made us more cheerful. Antonio being ready for the 
start, with the two pack-mules headed up the trail, I 
climbed into the saddle and with a parting "Adios!" I 



86 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

turned my face once more towards the mountains. 
Soon all sights and sounds of mining industry were left 
behind. Again I was amid the silent, fragrant pines. 
As we ascended my spirits rose and the charm of life 
returned. I felt as though casting off. a sort of malig- 
nant miasma ; and foolish though it may seem, I in- 
variably experience this sensation when departing from 
the mines into the mountains. 

While I had known excellent mozos, Antonio sur- 
passed them all for service. He was faultless. He was 
lithe, active, very quick on his feet, and careful with the 
mules. When we halted for the night, he had the sad- 
dles and freight off the animals in a flash, piled for me 
a couch of pine boughs, and deftly prepared and served 
the supper. As I have said, he was quite white and 
seemingly intelligent. But he was extremely taciturn. 
The first night, after he had brought my supper, I bade 
him eat. With expressionless face he declined, saying 
he would eat when I had finished. There was a finality 
in his tone which did not brook further condescension. 
And while condescension was far from my intent, it 
seemed that for him it could have no other meaning. 
When I turned in, Antonio carefully spread my blankets 
and tucked them under ; he would then crouch before the 
fire and smoke, looking fixedly at the flames. What 
were his thoughts? I observed his well-formed hands 
and feet, his shapely head, and thought he probably 
came of good stock. I wondered whether he held the 
same opinion, and chafed at being only a mozo. In 
no other way could I account for his sullen manner and 
manifest discontent. He never neglected his duties, but 
would spring up from sound sleep and run swiftly 
through the chaparral to keep the mules from straying 
too far from camp. Still I did not like him. 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 87 

The weather was fine and we had covered ground 
each day, Antonio knowing all the short cuts to save dis- 
tance. He said we should make Durango on the fourth 
day. For my part, I was in no hurry, for this was to 
be my last ride in the mountains, I was enjoying every 
hour and was even becoming reconciled to my mozo. 
The third night we passed in the uplands. The cold was 
intense and I woke with a start, about midnight. An- 
tonio was sitting by the fire with his brooding gaze upon 
me. His eyes met mine, cold and inscrutable. It 
seemed his thought was scarcely friendly. I inquired 
for the mules, and asked him if he was cold. He said the 
mules were all right but was noncommittal as to the • 
cold. When I suggested coffee he quickly brewed some 
and to my surprise, he drank a cup while I was drinking 
mine. 

We made Durango City on the afternoon of the fourth 
day. Since the previous night I had felt more friendly 
toward Antonio ; and I was grieved at his asking me to 
loan him a hundred dollars. His face lowered and his 
eyes gleamed when I declined. I suppose he thought 
I was rich. I gave him a handsome gratuity, in addition 
to his regular fee ; but he took leave of me with a scowl. 
A month after that he shot a man from his own pueblo 
for a price. The man was a desperado, and the jefe 
politico had offered a hundred dollars for his removal. 
So Antonio got the sum he was in need of after all. 

Travel in the mountains being now at an end, I de- 
cided to sell my mule. True to herself, she had pre- 
served her antipathy toward me to the last. If she was 
not glad to find another master, she at least was not 
sorry to leave her former one. I also parted with my 
saddle and rifle. I had still some clothes in my trunks that 
were good enough for city wear, but my stock of Ameri- 



88 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

can shoes was exhausted. Before leaving the mines, 
I had the forethought to write home for a pair to be sent 
by parcel-post, and to my satisfaction I found them 
awaiting me in the post-office at Durango. 

The following day I took train for Torreon, from 
whence I should proceed to Mexico City. As I found 
my seat in the Pullman, a lady and gentleman, apparently 
Americans, entered the opposite section. I judged that 
they were man and wife, that they were just turned 
thirty and that they were from New England. I longed 
for society, yet felt a sort of shyness that must have been 
due to my year in the mountains. I found a book and 
began to read, but so attractive were my neighbors, I 
found reading out of the question. Soon the gentleman 
asked to see my railroad folder and in this way the ice 
was broken. Their manners were as chamiing as their 
appearance, and our acquaintance ripened quickly. 
" Are you from the United States ? " they asked, almost 
simultaneously. And at my replying that I was, they 
exchanged glances. 

" But how did you guess I was an American ? " I 
asked. 

" By your shoes ! " they announced with triumph, 
" and it was so good to see a brand new pair of Ameri- 
can shoes in Mexico." 

My new friends, whom I will call the Howards, in- 
tended to stop over a day at Zacatecas, and I asked leave 
to join them. We arrived in the early evening and 
found lodging in " El Zacatecano," an old convent re- 
stored as a hotel and with much architectual merit, 
especi?illy in the patio. After the cena or supper, which 
in Mexico is a substantial repast with always at least 
one meat course, we went to the plaza to hear the band, 
which was under the leadership of that splendid maestro, 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 91 

Fernando Villalpando. How can any one be sad in 
Mexico on a summer's night, with a Alexican band play- 
ing the alluring airs of the country ? 

Mrs. Howard, who was a finished musician, was en- 
chanted and insisted on expressing our thanks for the 
pleasure the concert had given. We found Sr. Vil- 
lalpando a charming and courteous man and after we 
had bidden him good night, he had the band play " La 
Golondrina," out of compliment to the fair stranger who 
had expressed admiration for it. It was then I heard 
that lovely and plaintive air for the first time, and my 
fondness for it has only increased with the years. The 
verse is of Spanish origin and describes the sorrows of 
the Moorish ruler, Aben Hamet, on leaving his home in 
Granada, when Ferdinand and Isabel expelled the Moors 
from Spain. The first verse is as follows : — 

" Aben Hamet, al partir de Granada, 

Su corazon desgarrado sintio: 

Alia en la Vega, al perderla de la vista, 

Con debil voz su lamento epreso : — 
'Mansion de amores ! Celestial paraiso! 

Naci en tu seno do' mil dichas goze; 

Voy a partir a lejanas regiones, 

De donde nunca jamas volvere.'" 

"Aben Hamet in parting from Granada, 
Felt his heart torn : 

There on the Vega, when it was lost to sight, 
With faint voice he made lament : — 

'Mansion of loves! Celestial Paradise! 
I was born on thy bosom where I knew a thousand 

joys ; 
Now I depart to distant regions. 
From whence I shall never — never return.' " 

I have heard that in the dwellings of the Spanish 
Moors in Africa there still hang the massive keys to 



ft 






r 



'VtUi^U,, 



92 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

their lost homes in Granada; and that for generations 
they cherished the hope to return. Such is man's love of 
home^> 

The next day we visited the training school for boys, 
at Sr. Villalpando's invitation, and heard the boys' band, 
made up of youngsters all the way from ten years up- 
ward. They showed the effect of training by a master 
hand and played astonishingly well, rendering both 
Mexican and American airs : among them I remember 
" Hail Columbia " and " La Paloma." 

Directly after dinner we set out to visit the Church 
of Guadalupe, which is very famous, both architecturally 
and for its paintings. This church, which is in the en- 
virons of Zacatecas, is reached by street car. On the 
car I made an inquiry of a young man who sat next to me 
and he replied in excellent English. He proved an in- 
teresting talker and we chatted together during the rest 
of the journey. As we were leaving the car, Mr. How- 
ard whispered, " Ask him to go with us," and I lost no 
time in issuing the invitation, which my new acquaint- 
ance gracefully accepted, as though receiving an atten- 
tion instead of granting one. We discovered later that 
he had put himself out not a little, for he was an attor- 
ney and had gone there on business; but with him, as 
with the majority of the Mexicans, courtesy to strangers 
was of first importance. 

It is an easy matter to see Mexico's churches, if one 
is satisfied with merely entering the church and perhaps 
penetrating as far as the sacristy. To go further, an 
introduction is indispensable. Our new acquaintance, 
whose name was Sr. Ramirez, readily secured permis- 
sion for us to go wherever we liked ; and with him we 
visited the ancient convent, and ascended mysterious 
stairways leading into dark and silent corridors, whose 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 93 

walls were hung with ancient paintings, dim with dust 
and age. Meantime Sr. Ramirez, who was thoroughly 
familiar with the history of the church, related many 
interesting and thrilling events that had transpired there. 

On our way back to the hotel, I told Sr. Rami- 
rez that Mrs. Howard sang charmingly. At that he 
had a brilliant idea: he declared that he should organize 
a musical without delay and that it should take 
place that very night. In the evening he appeared 
and announced that all was arranged. He escorted 
us to the rooms of the club, of which he was a 
member, where a party of his friends were already 
assembled to receive us. Then followed one of the 
most delightful evenings of my experience. There 
was that slight strangeness on both sides, that lent a 
piquancy to the most trivial event; and there was, 
at the same time, that sympathy that immediately ob- 
tains amongst music lovers, despite the fact that they 
may have met for the first and the last time. I remember 
that we had the serenade of Braga, with violin obligato. 
One of the young men played Beethoven superbly and 
the violinist had magic in his finger tips. There were 
Mexican danzas, and English songs rendered by Mrs. 
Howard : of the latter, I think " Annie Laurie " made 
the greatest impression. It seems to have been written 
not for the Saxon race alone, but for all men alike ; ap- 
pealing with the sweet melody, even when the verse is 
not understood. 

We were amazed to find it was midnight and still we 
lingered for one more song. When we reached our 
hotel we found a parcel awaiting us. It was a present 
from Sr. Villalpando : a copy for each of us of his 
magnificent " Marcha Fiinebre," which was rendered at 
the funeral of Victor Hugo. 



94 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

As I recall that night the face of the violinist comes 
back most vividly. It is strange what slight things make 
a lasting impression. On the night of the musical, wine 
was served and as we were taking it, I noticed this youth 
hovering near the chair of the American senora. He 
was a handsome fellow, quite fair, with a bright, boyish 
face and graceful bearing. Several others surrounded 
her, engaging her in conversation; this boy seemed 
worshiping from a distance. Suddenly he darted for- 
ward and the next instant he was bending before her 
to take the wine glass. It was that he had been waiting 
for. There was a charming savor of old-time gallantry 
in the act. While other courtiers had vied for the lady's 
favor, this knight stood by, waiting to serve her. That 
boy was subsequently killed by a rival in love. I have 
received an account of the tragedy, but what is the use 
of repeating it? The bright young life is gone out and 
no bitter words of mine can bring it back. I shall re- 
member him as he played the " Angel's Serenade," with 
his cheek bent lovingly to the violin; and later, as he 
stood waiting to take the wine glass of the American 
senora. 

Throughout our stay Sr. Ramirez was unfailing in 
his attention. With him, we saw the churches and the 
schools and under his guidance we made our pilgrimage 
to the little chapel on the heights, el Santuario de la 
Bufa, where many of the devout go to pray daily, and 
where all Zacatecas repairs, once a year, during the feast 
attending the anniversary of its consecration. 

The following morning, he presented me with a paper 
on which were neatly written a number of important 
datos, regarding the history of the city. This was en- 
tirely his own idea and I felt duly grateful. He had 




Zacatecas cathedral 




Church of Guadalupe, Zacatecas 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 97 

written it in Spanish and I give the translation as nearly 
as possible. 

" The Indian town of Zacatecas was discovered, so 
says Padre Frejes, in the year 1531, by Pedro Almendes 
Chirinos. It was conquered the 8th of September, 1546, 
by Juan de Tolosa. On the nth of June, 1548, they 
discovered the vein of " San Bernabe " which was the 
first silver mine. 

"On the 20th of July, 1588, Zacatecas was elevated to 
the category of Noble y Leal Ciudad, by act of Felipe II. 

" The Convent of San Agustin, now the Hotel Zaca- 
tecano and Presbyterian Temple, was erected in 1576 
by the R. P. Alonso Quezada and rebuilt in 1613 by 
D. Agustin Zavala. 

" Of the chapel of Mexicalpa (one of the first 
chapels), the date of construction is not known, but it is 
very old. 

" El Santuario de la Bufa (the little chapel on the 
heights) was founded in 1548, but it was afterwards 
destroyed. The present chapel was erected over the 
ruins by the Sr. D. Jose Rivera Bernardez, Conde de 
Santiago de la Laguna and Colonel of Infantry. The 
count was also a famous writer and philanthropist. 

" The temple was consecrated by the Ilmo, Sr. D. 
Nicolas Carlos Gomez Cervantes, Bishop of Guadalajara, 
on the 29th day of June, 1728." 

The bones of the noble Conde de la Laguna repose 
in the crypt of the church of Santo Domingo. This 
splendid edifice, which fronts on the same square with 
the post office, was begun in 1746 and completed in 1769, 
which seems remarkable, especially as the cathedral has 
never been completed. The exterior of Santo Domingo 
is very fine. The interior was being restored, at a cost 
of about eight thousand dollars, but it is seldom that the 



98 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

restoring process is an improvement to Mexico's 
churches. The paintings are nearly all by Francisco 
Martinez Sanchez; and one in the sacristy is dated 1749. 
In the church there is also a Cabrera which is very well 
preserved. Santo Domingo was originally the seat of 
the Inquisition, and the painter Sanchez was also its 
notary. 

We were returning from the sacristy to the church, 
when I saw two of the attendants lifting a heavy door 
in the floor, and without a word we were ushered down 
a long flight of steps. The chamber at the bottom was 
scarcely visible in the dim light but the sacristan brought 
a candle, and we found we were in a crypt, surrounded 
by tombs, some ten or a dozen in all. On the door of 
one was the following inscription : " Here repose the 
remains of the Respectable Padre Fray Gregorio Moya, 
who died in the year 1680, and whose body was en- 
countered without corruption, in years after death." 
Within this tomb, which was of wood, were two mum- 
mies in robes which seemed to have ossified as well. 
The quaint shoes, with large buckles, were still intact. 
In climbing up to examine them, I inadvertently 
clapped my hat on the back of my head, whereupon Sr. 
Ramirez kindly removed it without a word. In a long, 
coflin-like box we saw the remains of the count, which 
have lain there over two centuries. He must have been 
over six feet in his stockings. The sacristan said that 
imtil a few years ago, the count's red mantle was toler- 
ably well preserved. Lime has recently been put in the 
coffin and now no sign of the mantle remains. 

The most remarkable mummy was in a closed cell, 
with a small aperture at the top. Peering through this I 
saw the form of a priest, standing erect in one corner, 
with his hands crossed on his breast. The head and 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 99 

face were but slightly disfigured and the body seemed to 
have retained its proportions. The robes, which were 
gray with dust, fell in statuesque folds and the whole 
had the look of a carving in stone. At his feet crouched 
a small dog, as though cut out of the same stone. I 
wondered if that dog followed the body of his master 
and was walled in by mistake! 

Zacatecas was building an immense state hospital, of 
brick and stone, severely plain, with an inside court and 
a fountain. I asked whence the water would come. 
The reply was " Quien sabe?" This lack of water is 
a serious thing : almost as sad as a lack of bread. 

The city's elevation is 8,000 feet. Its people num- 
bered then 30,000. In 1892 the official count showed 
42,000 and in 1887, 75,000. Sr. Ramirez said it was 
unlikely there would be a further drop, as already la- 
borers were scarce. Some of the mines were still in 
good metal. The Zacatecas miners are known through- 
out the republic as good workmen, and I have met them 
in the mountains of northern Durango trotting along the 
trail leading to some big camp, in search of employment. 

In the afternoon, being left to my own resources, I 
started just before sunset for La Bufa ; and trudged 
slowly up the steep mountain, past the Indian huts 
and the little hump-backed boy, tending his goats among 
the rocks, reaching the chapel just as the sun disap- 
peared behind the mountains opposite. The sky of 
Zacatecas was more deeply, intensely blue than any I 
had seen elsewhere, and retained its vivid quality at 
night, changing from azure to a deep and then a deeper 
sapphire. I watched the blue grow darker till it 
swallowed up the primrose line of the horizon, and then 
saw in the west a crescent moon and one brilliant star. 
Soon all the stars came out and the trail, which a mo- 



100 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

ment before had looked dark was light enough for the 
descent. On my way down I met the lone figure of a 
woman, shrouded in a black shawl, toiling up the rocky 
path to the chapel, which shone white and bold in the 
starlight. 

What gleams so bright from the mountain height, 
Amid the stars of the sober night? 
'Tis the light on the holy chapel wall, 
Inviting the pilgrim to pray in its hall. 

We left Zacatecas the following morning. Sr. 
Ramirez, attentive to the last, came to see us ofif. He 
was one of the first of many kind acquaintances we 
made in traveling and his was the customary courtesy 
of Mexico. 

My American friends, whose immediate destination 
was Guanajuato, had to change trains at Silao; and while 
I felt inclined to continue in their company, the desire 
to see Mexico City, la Capital as she is called, was over- 
mastering. She is to Mexico as New York to America, 
Paris to France, Madrid to Spain. She had drawn me 
to her with irresistible charm ever since I could remem- 
ber. I had Prescott's " Conquest " and Wallace's " The 
Fair God " in my trunks, and meant to read them again 
within her very gates. So now that only an afternoon 
and night intervened, I determined to continue on the 
train. After a farewell luncheon with my friends at the 
Silao station, with a dish of luscious strawberries, they 
took the branch road for Guanajuato and I continued on 
to Mexico. 

I awoke at seven o'clock the next morning, just as 
our train entered the station. Picking a couple of stout 
cargadores or porters, I gave them my trunk checks 
and at the same time recorded the numbers displayed on 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO loi 

their metal badges. I then took a coach and told the 
coachman to drive me to Calle San Agustin. I had 
with me two letters of introduction ; one from a young 
Mexican in the mines to a friend who was studying 
engineering in Mexico City ; and another from an Ameri- 
can in the mines to an American who was practising his 
profession in Mexico City. The letter to the young 
Mexican was directed to his boarding-place, and I pre- 
sented it at once, as I desired to secure lodging there. 
From the moment that this young man, Don Juan he 
was called by all his friends, read the letter and offered 
me his hand, placing himself unconditionally at my serv- 
ice, he became a sincere, useful and devoted friend. 
The apparent reason for this was that a mutual friend 
had recommended me. He was the son of a well-to-do 
family residing in one of the smaller cities, and was in 
Mexico City completing his education. He at once pre- 
sented me to the lady of the house, with whom I ar- 
ranged to take a large comfortable room, opening on 
the flower-filled patio, and my meals, for the moderate 
sum of $40.00 per month Mexican money. 

My Spanish, after a year in the mountains, was ex- 
ecrable. Finding slight inclination or time to study, I 
had learned it from the mountain people. Don Juan, 
who had a gentle manner and a most cheery smile, at 
once volunteered to take my Spanish in hand and to con- 
verse with me whenever we both were at leisure. I 
accepted with the condition that I should teach him 
English ; and while he acquiesced with apparent delight, 
I discovered that this was merely courtesy. His part 
of the contract he kept, but I was unable to fulfill mine 
as he cheerfully insisted on speaking Spanish whenever 
we were together. There were about forty men living 
at this house, all young, and either at college or just be- 



I02 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

ginning to practise their profession or calling. Only 
Spanish was spoken, and each one good-naturedly joined 
in my instruction. For six months I blundered without 
compunction. For six more I suffered real mortifica- 
tion, for I had learned enough to realize how atrociously 
I violated the language. At the end of a year my 
friends said I spoke quite well. I read Spanish with 
ease at least and understood all that I heard. I went 
often to the theater, and the greater number of my 
acquaintances and friends were Mexicans; so that I 
heard it constantly spoken. One morning, on waking, 
I was conscious of a dream, in which my thought or 
meditation had been in Spanish. I was overjoyed at 
this, and while I knew I had begun too late to ever 
speak it with perfection, I knew too that in a sense I 
at last possessed it. It would be idle to speculate as to 
the effect of language upon life, but Spanish, I believe, 
has enriched life for me at least one hundred per cent. 

It was Don Juan who first guided me about the streets 
of the magical city, Mexico, the pride of the Spaniards, 
built over the ruins of Tenochtitlan, pride of the Aztecs. 
My kind young friend, in whose veins coursed the blood 
of both these noble races, strolled beside me, murmuring 
in his soft, pleasant voice the facts that I ought to know : 
— population about five hundred thousand ; altitude a lit- 
tle over seven thousand feet; many foreigners in the 
capital, mostly in trade, — Spaniards in provisions and 
wines, French in dry goods, Germans in drugs and hard- 
ware, Americans in mining and everything else. The 
city was healthful, though one must be careful at night 
not to sleep with open windows. The volcanoes, Popo- 
catepetl and Ixtaccihuatl, were not visible in the after- 
noon, at this season, but the next morning he would 
call me to see them. They were ten thousand feet 




Paseo de la Reforma, Mexico City 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 105 

higher than the city, with a total height of about seven- 
teen thousand feet. 

I heard the foregoing as through a pleasant dream. 
At last, after a life of anticipation, I was in Mexico. 
Everything charmed me ; the houses, with their transient 
glimpses of interior gardens and fountains ; the pleasant 
monotony of the sky-line, broken at intervals by superb 
towers and domes; and the Alameda with its fine trees 
and military band ; the people in carriages and the people 
on foot ; the composite life of the street ; the color, the ani- 
mation, the happiness. We walked through San Fran- 
cisco and Plateros to the great plaza, where stand the 
Cathedral and both the National and the Municipal 
Palace. Don Juan said we must ascend one of the 
Cathedral towers for a view of the city; so we climbed 
the massive, stone stairs, being halted midway by a 
gate, where the porter had his habitation with his wife 
and children, and taxed each visitor six cents for the 
view from the tower. When at last we had reached it 
we found the volcanoes had emerged from their clouds 
and stood forth in dazzling white splendor, against the 
blue. I observed that there were broad balustrades 
providing comfortable seats and nooks in the masonry 
where one might sit all day and read. 

The next morning I again sought the tower, with 
Prescott's " Conquest " for my companion ; and with fre- 
quent glances at the city and the wide valley, spread on 
every side to the foot of the mountains, I read again, 
on that day and many more days, the story that is doubt- 
less one of the most amazing and fascinating in the his- 
tory of the world. The scenes of the main episodes of 
the conquest were before me. To the south stretched 
the causeway over which in 15 19 Cortes and his men 
first entered the Aztec capital. In that square, where 



io6 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

the Cathedral and palaces now stand, he lodged his; 
soldiers, and there he held Montezuma as hostage. To 
the west, over what is now Calle de Tacuba, he led his 
desperate forces in retreat, on " the Sad Night " ; and 
his favorite, Alvarado, called by the Indians, " Child of 
the Sun," made his famous leap over the heads of his 
companions, who with their horses were floundering to 
their death in the ooze of the Canal. On that site of 
Mexico's great Cathedral there towered the Aztec 
Temple dedicated to the Heathen Gods. From their 
encampment without the city, the Spaniards saw their 
captive-comrades ascending the steps of the temple, to 
die on the sacrificial stone as an offering to the war god, 
Huitzilopochtli. And there they returned, in their day 
of triumph, to hurl down the god from his throne and 
level the temple walls in the dust. In the National 
Museum, not a square distant, both war god and sacri- 
ficial stone afforded weighty proof of the truth of it all. 
I did not live wholly in the past, for there was the 
city life, vivid, real, exciting, — insisting that I should 
share it. In the afternoons I forgot the past and 
enjoyed the life of Modern Mexico. The most at- 
tractive point in Mexico's capital between the hours 
of 4 and 7 p. m. especially on Sunday and Thurs- 
day, is the Pasco de la Reforma, where one hears' 
a superb military band and sees not only the beauty and 
fashion of Mexico, but a sprinkling of all sorts and 
conditions that help form its population. While the 
Paseo is comparatively a short drive, its magnificent 
trees, fine roads, and charming vista terminating in the 
castle-crowned heights of Chapultepec, together with the 
anticipation of the beautiful grove beyond, all serve to 
make it delightful. At the approach there is a gigantic 
equestrian statue of Carlos IV of Spain, which is called 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 107 

familiarly by the people, Cahallito (Little Horse). It 
is recorded on the base that'^'it weighs 22^ tons, — was 
cast in one pouring by Manuel Tolsa, director of sculp- 
ture at the Academy, in 1802, and that the chiseling and 
burnishing occupied fourteen months. It was placed on 
its present site in 1852, having formerly stood in the Plaza 
Mayor. The entrance to the drive is also guarded by 
two enormous bronze figures of Indian warriors. 

A far more interesting monument stands in the third 
glorieta. It bears the inscription, " To the Memory of 
Cuauhtemoc and of the warriors who fought so heroic- 
ally in defense of their country in 1521." On the base 
are two fine bas-reliefs. One represents the capture of 
Cuauhtemoc at the moment when he was brought to the 
presence of Cortes, to whom he made his memorable 
speech of surrender: " Malinche, I have done what I 
could in defense of this city and of my nation," and 
placing his hand on the conqueror's dagger, " Take this 
now and kill me ! " The other depicts his subsequent 
torture, which failed to elicit so much as a groan, still 
less the desired information about the treasure. Above 
are blazoned the names of Indian nobles and patriots, 
and the whole is surmounted by the bronze figure of an 
Indian of heroic size with spear uplifted as though to 
hurl it at the foe. The monument is flanked on either 
side by the broad driveway and an imposing semi-cir- 
cular bench of stone. From this vantage-point one may 
listen to the music and watch the passing show. 

At the first notes of the band there are few turnouts 
visible, but their numbers rapidly increase until the road 
is soon thronged with carriages, automobiles, eques- 
trians and foot passengers. There rides a lady gowned 
in pale lavender, the latest Paris creation, no doubt; her 
faultless victoria drawn by a pair of high-stepping baysi 



io8 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

docked a la IngUsa, and with two men in livery up in 
front. She is followed by a pair of beautiful black 
horses with flowing manes and tails, their fine heads 
and sensitive nostrils suggesting an Arab strain. They 
draw a brougham faultless as the victoria, but the owner 
has chosen to retain one feature essentially of the coun- 
try. The coachman, a dark swarthy fellow, wears a 
tight-fitting suit of black and a huge sombrero, thus 
adding a picturesque quality. There rides a young 
cahallero in all the bravery of Mexican attire, both his 
suit and hat elaborately trimmed with silver. His horse, 
a mettlesome gray, seems to step the prouder for the 
silver-mounted trappings. At his side a youth of as 
many years has adopted the English mode and rides a 
stylish trotter, rising in the stirrups in approved form. 
Now a ranchero reins his pacing mule to listen to the 
music. Behind him is a tiny mite of a boy, his chubby 
legs tied in the thongs of the Mexican saddle — his 
hands clutching his father's jacket, while he looks amaze- 
ment from a pair of big black eyes. The crowd in- 
creases. There a peon in brilliant zarape is buying dukes 
for his wife and child who sit on the curbstone and 
blissfully devour the sweets. Here a woman walks, 
graceful, barefooted, carrying an immense earthen jar 
on her head, and passing amid all this gay throng, come 
some freighters with their band of sleek-coated mules. 

During this scene of tropical color, beauty and luxury, 
at a stone's throw have been passing innumerable little 
street cars, some of them draped in black, others in 
white, surmounted by crosses, and bearing suggestive 
coffin-shaped boxes. These have gradually ceased, how- 
ever. New equipages laden with beautiful women dash 
past. One catches a fleeting glimpse of dark eyes and of 
jeweled fingers twirled rapidly at some passing friend. 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO iii 

'A young Southerner romantically inclined says they make 
him think of twinkling stars which are now beginning to 
show over the tree tops. The sun has dropped behind 
the mountain, there is a young moon overhead, — the 
strains of La Golondrina float across the Paseo, — the 
scene is one not to be forgotten. It is la noche and even- 
ing life has begun in the gayest city of the Republic. 

The Howards arrived in Mexico a few days later than 
I, with enthusiastic accounts of the picturesque charm of 
Guanajuato. I soon learned that Mr. Howard's para- 
mount desire was to meet the President of Mexico, and as 
he carried credentials from the highest sources, both offi- 
cial and social, his pretensions seemed not unreasonable. 
For the rest, he pursued his goal with the unwavering as- 
surance peculiar to men of his race. He had brought let- 
ters to Senator de Herrera of Chihuahua, and it was no 
surprise when he informed me that the Senator would 
present us to President Diaz at the National Palace the 
following day. 

On our entering the presidential apartment, the ante- 
room was deserted as was also the receiving room into 
which the Senator conducted us. The next moment, 
President Diaz entered. His presence was extremely 
commanding, — not haughty but dominant. His counte- 
nance was handsome and rather impassive, his com- 
plexion fresh and sanguine, his eye large, dark and at 
that moment mild. His hand-shake was firm and cordial 
and his hand warm and dry, denoting perfect circulation. 
Mr. Howard at once delivered to the President a mes- 
sage from his father, an elderly gentleman, who had al- 
ways followed the career of the President with admira- 
tion, and who now begged that he would send him, by 
the hand of his son, a signed photograph. Thereupon the 
President signed and gave us two photographs. But Mr. 



,112 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

Howard, who possessed a naive and charming manner, 
asked to be permitted to photograph the President with 
his own camera. The President seemed agreeably im- 
pressed by the sincerity of his request, and we were ac- 
cordingly bidden to visit him the following Sunday 
morning at Chapultepec Castle. 

On Sunday morning at ten o'clock we went to Cha- 
pultepec The President received us with distinct kind- 
ness, dismissed his attendant, and led us upon the terrace. 
The month was May. The light was golden, the sky 
blue, with no premonition of the afternoon shower. On 
the west and south rose giant cypress trees, the pleasure- 
groves of Aztec emperors before the coming of the Span- 
iards. On the east, was the broad Paseo de la Reforma, 
fringed with tall eucalyptus trees, leading straight to the 
city, whose towers we could plainly see. We could even 
hear the Cathedral bells. From this same terrace the 
Empress Carlota watched, on summer evenings, for the 
coming of Maximilian, who had endeavored to reproduce 
here all the beauty of Miramar. The frescoes and fur- 
nishings were still eloquent of the luxurious tastes of the 
Austrian Arch-Duke and his beautiful consort, whose 
hand was especially revealed in the charming interior gar- 
dens. 

The Senator, glowing with pride, had just entreated us 
to admire once more the. beauties of Popocatepetl and 
Ixtaccihuatl, limned in snowy profile against the blue, and 
under the spell of their enchantment we followed the 
President to the north terrace where historical fact 
awaited us. While history by no means precludes en- 
chantment, it is not its distinguishing feature ; but we had 
been reading Prescott, and the romance of the Conquest 
possessed us. We were surrounded by reminders of the 
brief reign of -Maximilian, and these thovigh sad are in 




Castle of Chapultepec 




Corridor of Chapultepec 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 115 

the main beautiful. Is it easy to be unmindful of our 
own trespasses? I confess I scarcely remembered the 
war of '47. Then came the grim fact, — on that field the 
Mexican and American armies met : at that precise angle 
of the cliffs, our soldiers scrambled, tooth and nail, to 
assault and capture the castle. I learned now, for the 
first time, that it was defended by boys who were cadets 
in the military school, — some only fourteen years old. 

The President, when he had indicated the exact point 
of attack, started to move on. Our kind friend, the 
Senator, began speaking rapidly, half in extenuation, — I 
remember he placed much stress on the fact that it all 
happened a good many years ago. He could not but 
speak thrillingly of those boy-heroes, — his son was even 
then a cadet in Chapultepec Academy, — but he also paid 
a tribute to the bravery of the Americans. The Mexi- 
can boys were young lions, the Senator said, — they died 
like men. The young color-bearer, fatally wounded, 
clutched the flag in his arms and hurled himself over the 
embankment, rather than surrender. And an American 
officer, when he saw the wounded and dying boys, shed 
tears and said they were too young, — that they should 
not have been there to die so young. Then the Senator 
spoke of the monument to their memory, where each 
year, after the President has placed a wreath with his 
own hand, the American Ambassador goes also to offer 
a floral tribute in honor of the boy martyrs. The Presi- 
dent listened gravely and at mention of the wreaths 
bowed slightly in acquiescence. 

It was here that American diplomacy, of a high order, 
informed by intelligent sympathy, projected itself on the 
disturbed psychology of the moment. Mr. Howard, a 
typical Saxon, blue-eyed, smiling, sunny of look and na- 
ture, — his sweet American girl-wife clinging to his arm. 



Ii6 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

— had listened with rapt attention and serious mien. I 
attribute to him a high order of diplomacy, because his 
words and manner seemed exactly right. Mrs. Howard 
confided to me afterwards that she was sure he would 
say something. 

" I am glad, Mr. President," he began, and his tone 
was courteous as it was untroubled, " that in later years, 
during the French intervention, my country was enabled 
to perform a service for Mexico." 

It was then President Diaz pronounced these words 
which I shall always remember : 

" Nations are like boys. When they are young, they 
quarrel. When they are older, they help each other." 

The situation was saved. Did the President sense our 
anxiety or our relief? The hero of many wars might 
well be insensible to the trepidations of mere mortals. 
Yet if he was quite unconscious of ours, why did he at 
that moment turn and graciously offer his arm to Mrs. 
Howard? Her spirits now regained their natural buoy- 
ancy and sweetness. Did the President speak English? 
He regretted that he did not. Naturally she demanded 
an interpreter, and I was chosen for this useful if dif- 
ficult office. My Spanish was almost nil and my embar- 
rassment was heightened, inasmuch as I had heard that 
while the President did not converse in English, he under- 
stood it quite well. But by this time, his direct and 
simple kindness, which only enhanced his nobility of man- 
ner, had cast upon us such a magical charm, that all that 
followed took on a natural, almost a homely quality. I 
even felt that blunders in Spanish would be regarded with 
indulgence. 

Meantime Mr. Howard had adjusted his camera and 
begun the business of snap-shotting the President. Trot- 
ting about him in most nonchalant fashion he photo- 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 117 

graphed him at various angles, and then, with his most 
poHte if somewhat brief American bow, he would wave 
his hand toward an adjacent chair and say, " Please be 
seated. Sir ! " And the President of Mexico, the " Man 
of Iron," with composed and serious look, but with, I was 
certain, an amused twinkle in his eye would seat himself 
to be photographed. The remarkable thing was that, as 
I have said, all seemed perfectly natural. 

It was during luncheon, where we were unostenta- 
tiously served by an Indian butler, that President Diaz 
spoke of Mexico, and especially of the friendship existing 
between Mexico and the United States. He said it was 
our revolution and achievement that had heartened Mex- 
ico to cast off the yoke of Spain ; that Mexico's govern- 
ment was modeled, so far as possible, after ours. 

Mr. Howard then likened Hidalgo to Washington; 
Juarez to Lincoln; Diaz to Grant. The President then 
proposed the health of the President of the United States. 
A curious mistake occurred while we were at table, show- 
ing the difficulty of social intercourse between people of 
different tongues. Mr. Howard, who was a brilliant 
talker, and who manifested implicit though somewhat 
misplaced confidence in the versatility of his interpreters, 
desired to give an essentially American toast in honor of 
the President. He began with a reference to our favorite 
actor, Jefferson, and turning to the President said, " Sir, 
may you live long and prosper ! " Senator Herrera, who 
was in excellent spirits and eager to aid Mr. Howard, 
said rapidly, " He desires to honor the memory of their 
great president Jefferson." I was too rattled to interpose 
in time, and the toast was politely drunk. 

It was when he spoke of Mexico and her future, that 
Diaz glowed as with an inner flame. Sometimes his eye 
flashed, — again it softened and became suffused. We 



Ii8 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

were awed and deeply affected. We felt that we were 
in the presence of a great and holy passion, — the passion 
of a patriot for his country. Somehow I forgot his 
greatness, — his eyes filled with tears as he talked of his 
hopes for Mexico. But I saw the great compelling mo- 
tive of his life, his love of country. 

The President walked with us to the elevator in the 
enclosed garden which descends through a shaft cut in 
the solid rock. In taking leave of him, Mrs. Howard 
desired me to express our gratitude for his exceeding 
kindness, and this I endeavored to do. " You merit it," 
was his reply. We were silent throughout our return 
drive to the city, through the Paseo de la Re forma. The 
magnitude of our enterprise had begun to dawn upon 
us. We had been for a whole forenoon with one of the 
great rulers of the world ; yet so indulgent was his kind- 
ness, for the time we had only realized that we were 
happy. 

The good and gentle Senator soon afterwards returned 
to his estates in the northern part of the republic and my 
American friends continued their, journeyings to other 
countries. A year later Mr. Howard wrote me, " I have 
always intended to write an account of our morning with 
President Diaz at Chapultepec ; but he is such a big fel- 
low, I am afraid to tackle him." I confess to the same 
feeling, a feeling of awe, of veneration. Yet it was a 
real experience, — the biggest one of my life. And now, 
of that party of friends who went to pay their homage 
to Mexico's president on Chapultepec heights, I alone 
remain. 

Throughout the ensuing years I saw the President con- 
stantly. I saw him reviewing the army on field days, 
presiding at official ceremonies, laying corner-stones, 
dedicating edifices. He was always unchanged, — always 




Garden of Chapultepec 




Gate to Chapultepec military college 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 121 

alert, impassive, clear-eyed, commanding, dignified: al- 
ways on time, no matter what the hour or the weather, 
thus quietly enforcing the rule of promptness in this 
pleasant land of manana. It seemed that in this habit 
of punctuality, as in all his daily life, he was modestly 
and unobtrusively setting a good example to the men in 
Mexico, whether native or foreign. And while the light 
beats fiercely on the President's chair as on the throne, 
no stain on the private life of Diaz has been revealed, 
even to his enemies. 

As for the achievement of President Diaz, all the world 
knows that he went into office as provisional president in 
1876, it being formally decreed by Congress in April of 
the following year that he serve as Constitutional Presi- 
dent for a term expiring in November, 1880. He de- 
clined reelection, in accordance with the provisions of 
the Constitution. At the expiration of the term of 
Gonzalez in 1884, Diaz was again elected. One of his 
first acts was to reduce the President's salary from 
$30,000 to $15,000. He established schools and com- 
pulsory education. He made Mexico safe for foreigners, 
and invited them to come in and develop her marvelous 
resources, mineral, agricultural, industrial, — to the ad- 
vantage of Mexico and to their own enrichment. He 
once told me, in course of .conversation, that he wel- 
comed the coming to Mexico of young, intelligent, con- 
structive Americans. He made possible the complete 
railway systems, which have brought about a remarkable 
development in national and international communication, 
both industrial and intellectual. Above all, he fostered 
and maintained peace for thirty years. 

In order to justly appreciate the achievement of Diaz, 
we should note the following chronological events, as af- 
fecting the social and political evolution of Mexico. 



122 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

1325 The Aztecs (ancient Mexicans) took possession of the Val- 
ley of Mexico. Their origin is mystery. At the time of 
the Spanish conquest, the Aztecs had either subjugated or 
were at war with the other Indian nations. 

1502 Montezuma became Emperor of the Aztecs. 

1519 Cortes landed on the Mexican coast. 

1520 Montezuma died. 

1521 Cortes captured the Aztec capital, now Mexico City. 

1522 The first Catholic church was founded in Mexico. 

1527 All the picture-writings and other manuscripts of the Aztecs 
were taken from the national archives and burned. 

1531 The miracle of the Virgin of Guadalupe, the Patroness of 
Mexico. 

1547 Cortes died. 

1571 The Inquisition was established in Mexico. 

1810 The priest, Hidalgo, proclaimed Mexican Independence. 

181 1 Hidalgo was captured and shot. 

1813 First Mexican congress. 

1814 First Mexican constitution. 

1820 Inquisition was suppressed. 

1821 Mexican Independence was consummated. 

1822 Iturbide was named Emperor. Santa Ana declared for a 

republic. 

1823 Iturbide abdicated. Monroe Doctrine proclaimed. Iturbide 

shot. 
1835 Rebellion of Texas. 
184s Annexation of Texas. 
1846 United States war with Mexico. 
1848 Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. 
1859 Reform laws promulgated by Juarez. 
1862 French army invaded Mexico. 

1864 Maximilian was crowned Emperor. 

1865 Mr. Seward's note to France, demanding the withdrawal of 

her army. 
1867 French army withdrawn, Diaz captured Puebla. Maxi- 
milian was shot. Diaz captured City of Mexico. 

1876 Diaz proclaimed Provisional President. 

1877 Diaz elected Constitutional President. 
1880 Gonzalez elected President. 

1884 Diaz elected President. 




San Ipolito, Mexico City, the first church built 
after the conquest 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 125 

During Mexico's centenary celebration in 19 10, on the 
birthday of President Diaz, which falls on September 
15th, the day preceding that of Mexico's independence, 
I passed before him in line with the visiting newspaper 
men, who were the guests of the Mexican federal gov- 
ernment. We had been advised not to address him in 
English. When I shook his hand, I said in Spanish, 
" May you have a very long life, Sir, and may the 
country continue happy ! " He gripped my hand firmly, 
smiled and bowed, and I passed on to make way for the 
next man in line. 

President Diaz should have a long life. He comes 
of a hardy race and his habits are conducive to longevity. 
His magnanimity has long since elevated him above any 
personal ambition or self-interest. His identity is 
merged completely with the national life. And in the 
future peace and prosperity of Mexico he will continue 
to find happiness. He may see firmly established the 
era he so confidently proclaimed when nations, grown 
older, help one another. 



CHAPTER V 

Peaceful Morelia : Lake Patzcuaro : Tzintzuntzan : Uruapan 
and its Boom : A Fortunate Washout : Progress Comes to 
Him Who Waits : Products of Uruapan : Ideal Climate in the 
Tropics: Something About Saddle-Horses : Michoacan .and 
the Tarascos : Burial of a Tarasco King: Solemnity of the 
Indians: Their Arts and Crafts. 

AT the house where I was staying were young 
men from every part of Mexico. Pleased at 
my enjoyment of their country, they wished me 
to see the whole of it, and from them I had much 
advice about traveling. A city they especially recom- 
mended was Morelia, the capital of Michoacan, assur- 
ing me that the Cathedral was the finest in the republic. 
On the same line were Lake Patzcuaro, with Tzin- 
tzuntzan and the supposed Titian painting, and the charm- 
ing old city of Uruapan, to which the railroad had just 
penetrated. 

On a morning in June I took the 7:10 train out of 
Mexico for Morelia. The rains had begun their freshen- 
ing work and it was good to see the gaunt horses and 
cattle cropping the tender grass, while an occasional 
frisky colt or calf kicked his heels in the air. The con- 
ductor said that was just the way he felt when he got 
down to a lower altitude, and expressed the friendly 
conviction that when I got to Uruapan I should feel that 
way too. As the road approached the summit, which 
is about 3,000 feet higher than Mexico, I began to be 

126 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 127 

very hungry. Fortunately there were Indian women 
at every station with food — such as it was ! 

At Flor de Maria which we reached at 12:10 p.m. 
there was a good substantial dinner ; and from that point 
the train glided down through a gently rolling country, 
where the green plains stretch away on every side, with 
an occasional hacienda or white church tower, till they 
are lost in the blue of the mountains. 

We arrived at Morelia about eight o'clock in the 
evening. It is a restful city, built on a hill which slopes 
gradually on every hand, affording perfect drainage, 
and is swept by cool breezes from the mountains. There 
is little noise at night save the monotonous cry of the 
street vendor. The city is brilliantly lighted by elec- 
tricity, which makes the streets, almost deserted after 
nine o'clock, seem still more solitary. Even the Cathe- 
dral towers have each a three-light cluster of incandes- 
cents. The Morelia Cathedral deserves its fame for 
beauty. The church is flanked on either side by a 
plaza filled with tropical verdure and blossoms. I have 
never seen a city with so many plazas. In all, the trees 
and plants have that casual arrangement which is the 
perfection of landscape gardening, and seems peculiar 
to Mexico. 

Morelia is a city of fine buildings, massive enough to 
last through the ages. One constantly wonders where 
the people are. There are few carriages of any de- 
scription, but I saw many fine saddle horses. One gets 
the impression of wealth on every hand, in the buildings 
in general, but above all in the churches. A unique 
group are the church of Las Monjas, with the sumptuous 
Colegio de Guadalupe for girls on one side, and the 
very plain but orderly barracks elbowing it on the other. 
The bells keep up a constant warning for the faithful. 



128 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

From the college come sweet-faced children to buy 
dulces at the street corner. Soldiers lounge in front of 
the barracks, and within are heard the bugle call and 
drum-taps. The most noticeable movement in the city 
is at night and morning when the women carry water 
from the various fountains, an ever-graceful and in- 
teresting sight. The people are invariably soft-spoken 
and courteous. 

I saw a lot of prisoners at work on the street, and 
as none had really bad faces I asked what they had 
done. My informant crooked his elbow and placed his 
thumb suggestively to his lips. ToO' much tequila 
(brandy) ! This gentleman was reclining on the edge of 
a fountain. The soldier in charge was leaning against a 
telegraph pole. The prisoners, with one or two excep- 
tions, were resting on their shovels. I sank into a con- 
venient stone seat, and we all rested. 

The city of Morelia is named for the great Morelos, 
the formation of his name suggesting that of Bolivia 
from Bolivar. The population is estimated at thirty- 
seven thousand. I shall never cease to question the ac- 
curacy of these figures. 

I took my departure at 7 a. m. A number of the in- 
habitants were in sight but the only active members were 
the porter with my trunk, and his reproduction, on a 
small scale, with my basket balanced on his head. 

The road between Morelia and Patzcuaro presents a 
vista of more rolling prairies, towering mountain-ranges 
and the beautiful Patzcuaro lake. The ride takes two 
hours. At Patzcuaro an Indian transferred my trunk 
and ran in front of the mules all the way to the 
hotel to unload it. He then constituted himself my 
guide for all expeditions, and offered to see me through 
on horseback or to tote me as he did my trunk if I 




Cathedral of Morelia 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 131 

preferred. I knew I should like Patzcuaro because the 
Morelia people said it was ugly. It is an ancient pueblo, 
built on a hill, which slopes away to the blue waters of 
the lake. At the back of the town are thick woods, and 
the square in front of the hotel is shaded by one giant 
tree where a fountain splashes clear water into the 
women's ollas. Even men carry water in two jars 
balanced on the ends of long poles and none of them 
leaves the fountain without a rest and a dish of gossip. 
The air here is delicious. At first sight Patzcuaro im- 
presses one as ugly, but take a ten minutes' walk to the 
adjacent hill and you will change your opinion. Below 
you lies the large and beautiful lake, with its island vil- 
lages and the fishing-boats of the Indians. Beyond the 
lake are the mountains ; back of you the pine woods. 
You look your fill and turn to go, and pause to look 
again. 

Patzcuaro is chiefly interesting for having been the 
ancient capital of the Chichimecas, who are thought to 
have come from the North about the year 1200, and 
subdued the tribes that already occupied the shores and 
islands of Lake Patzcuaro. Indian chroniclers attribute 
the origin of the first people of Michoacan to a unique 
incident. They claim that during the emigration of the 
northern tribes, on reaching the lake of Patzcuaro, many 
of the people stopped to bathe. The others, by advice 
of their gods, who doubtless disapproved of the bathing 
habit, surreptitiously gathered up their friends' clothing 
and departed. 

The ancient victims of this too-practical joke were so 
infuriated, that they resolved to cut the acquaintance of 
the rest of their tribe for good and all. They camped 
on the spot, and so great was their hatred for the jokers, 
they even changed their language. Whatever the be- 



132 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

ginnings of this race, it was a large and powerful one, 
second only to that of Mexico proper, at the coming of 
the Spaniards. 

It is noteworthy that the Indian king Miguangage, 
who had his seat at Patzcuaro, left no heirs for the 
reason that his first son was killed by lightning, and his 
others put to death by his own orders, in punishment for 
their crimes. 

The last king of Michoacan bore the nickname Caltzon- 
tsi [Old Shoe], bestowed by the Aztecs in token of their 
scorn for his cowardly surrender to the Spaniards. 
This base monarch caused the murder of his brothers, 
fearing in them rivals for the throne. His people and 
the Aztecs were old enemies, and when the brave 
Cuauhtemoc sent his ambassadors proposing they should 
join forces against their common foe, he refused to con- 
sider their offers, and had them put to death. It is 
supposed he imagined the Spaniards would content 
themselves with taking Mexico, and leave him undis- 
turbed; but when Cortes sent his troops, under Mon- 
taiio, he received them without resistance and went in 
person to the capital to offer submission to the con- 
queror. He continued king in name for a number of 
years, but finally fell into the hands of the cruel Nuno de 
Guzman, who, after robbing him of all his treasure, 
had him burned alive. 

The Michihuacanos believed in the immortality of the 
soul and in the existence of God. They also worshiped 
idols and practised human sacrifice. Michoacan means 
" country of fishes." The name was bestowed by the 
Aztecs. When the conquerors came, the Indian nobles 
gave them their daughters, calling them tarascue which 
means " sons-in-law." The Spaniards, hearing this 
word constantly, corrupted it into Tarascos, and applied 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 133 

it to the Indians themselves, who are still known by 
this name. 

Friday is market-day at Patzcuaro. Then the Indians 
come from far and near with their wares, and the plaza 
is crowded from sunrise. Among the things displayed 
are fruits in great variety, delicious fish (a tiny one, the 
size of a sardine, and a larger white one not unlike perch 
in flavor), and ducks. There is an abundance of a 
red earthenware, without ornament but apparently very 
strong; also the curious capote, or Indian rain-coat, 
woven from palm leaves. At this season every peon 
carries or wears one, and as he is often a wild-looking 
creature to start with, this shaggy, bristly covering com- 
pletes the picture of a sure-enough Indian. The price 
is fifty cents for a fine large one, and it is a tempta- 
tion to carry one away, unwieldy as it is. The weaving, 
which shows on the inside, is very close and firm, and 
the cape is said to shed water like a duck's back. The 
Indian may sell what he brought to market but he carries 
another load home. Indeed, as one seldom sees one 
of the genus pure and simple who is not toting a pack, 
it is not hard to believe the statement that when he has 
nothing to carry he loads up with ballast. 

I left Patzcuaro early on market-day to see Tzin- 
tzuntzan and the picture. With a good horse the ride 
may be easily made in two hours. The road was 
thronged with Indians on their way to market. There 
were trains of burros laden with the red pottery, and 
the driver always carried as much as one of the burros. 
There were women, with great baskets of fruit, and 
the inevitable youngsters slung on behind. If you look 
close enough at an Indian woman's pack you are pretty 
sure to see a small pair of bare feet projecting from the 
midst of baskets and sacks. No wonder these young- 



134 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

sters grow up to have the endurance of pack-animals 
themselves, jolted as they are from the day of their 
arrival, over rough roads, rain or shine, always in the 
fresh air, suckled in the open, with the ground for a 
cradle. It means more than ordinarily, for an Indian 
to say, " the mother that bore me." That mother never 
locked him in to be burned alive by the explosion of a 
kerosene lamp. When she got ready to sally forth, she 
simply caught him up in her rebozo and tossed him on 
her back. Then she trotted off about her business, a 
mile or twenty, as it happened ; and he might sleep, wake, 
coo or howl as he preferred, it was all the same to her. 
I saw one man, mounted on a small burro, and carry- 
ing a very young infant on his arm. One often sees a 
brawny peon carrying a baby as tenderly as though he 
loved it. 

The strangest object was a very small article that a 
young Indian had wrapped in his zarape. He was carry- 
ing it as though it were an infant, but as he passed I 
saw a shock of coarse, reddish hair and my curiosity 
prompted me to call him back and ask what he had. 
" Un marranito, seiior," he replied, opening the zarape, 
and there sure enough, lay a baby pig sleeping as peace- 
fully as a child. His nurse eyed him fondly, and I was 
so surprised my genius for asking questions deserted me. 
I shall never cease to wonder if that pig was intended 
for sacrifice, or if he had been regularly adopted. 

Tzintzuntzan is embowered in trees. The first glimpse 
of the town is attractive, with the church tower just 
showing over the tops of the olives. The houses and 
streets are clean and the people decent and friendly in 
their manner. It was a fiesta and the entire populace 
seemed to be carrying decorations to the church, where 
there was to be a procession in the afternoon. Women 



*» 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 135 

and children were laden with plants and flowers, and 
the men were carrying immense timbers to build a stag- 
ing in the sacristy. The priest was a bright young Mex- 
ican with a genial manner, and impressed me as a real 
friend of the Indians. He had two schools under way. 
He readily consented to my photographing the picture, 
but the Indians looked on this with disfavor, and I was 
closely attended and narrowly watched by two patriarchs 
till my labors were ended. As to the painting, it is 
superb and would repay a longer journey. Its interest 
is enhanced by its quaint setting in this quaintest of old 
pueblos. 

Tzintzuntzan was the seat of an Indian king as early 
as 1400. There are still extensive ruins ; among them 
one that is said to mark the site of the palace of Cal- 
tzontzi. 

I went to make my adieu to the padre who was still 
up to his eyes in business with his parishioners, and also 
took leave of the old Indians who had kept an eye on 
me to see that I did n't hoodoo the picture with my 
mysterious box. They were now more cordial that they 
found I was going, but quite disappointed because I 
could not show them my photographs then and there. 
They inquired where my home might be, and on my telling 
them in " los Estados Unidos," they asked if it was on 
the other side of the water or where. They said they 
had heard of my country which made me justly proud. 
I told them that to reach theirs I traveled five days and 
five nights. The time was nothing, but they repeated 
over and over, " traveling, traveling, all the days and 
nights on the machine." 

As I left the town I took a snap-shot at the old tower, 
looming amid the olive trees, which are said to have 
sprung from shoots brought from the Mount of Olives. 



m 



136 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

What tales we hear in Mexico, as though the truth were 
not quite romantic enough ! On reaching a crest that 
commands a view of the lake and islands, I stopped to 
use my field glasses. A group of home-bound natives 
were resting there, and they began whispering and point- 
ing to the glasses. No doubt they all saw farther with 
the naked eye than I did with the lens, but for fun I let 
them all have a peep. Out of seven, but two could see 
at all. These were like children with a new toy, but I 
soon found that the landscape had no charms for them. 
The train was just pulling into the Patzcuaro station, 
and again the maquina (locomotive) was the center of 
interest. 

Much of the road lies close to the lake where one gets 
almost a sea breeze. Although the way was filled with 
returning Indians, when I reached Patzcuaro the 
plaza still presented a lively scene, and there was a 
reception at the priests' college, with a brass band in 
attendance. 

Patzcuaro is full twenty-minutes' ride by street car 
from the station; whereas the station is but five minutes 
ride from Patzcuaro; fifteen minutes representing the 
difference between mule power and gravity. You make 
the ascent with much whip-cracking and yelling from 
the driver, and wild scrambling on the part of the mules. 
The return is much like a toboggan slide, and full as 
exciting, if the tracks happen to be wet and the con- 
ductor does n't understand the brakes very well. 

The ride on the train to Uruapan is delightful. With 
the descent, the landscape takes on a more tropical look, 
and the air becomes deliciously soft and balmy; but al- 
ways with a spring-like freshness. One of the loveliest 
lakes I ever saw lies quite near the line of the railroad. 
Absolutely still, without a fleck except where the water 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 139 

fowl light, it mirrors the trees, the mountains and the 
sky. 

Not only had Uruapan's fame for beauty preceded it, 
but I heard from a Mexican gentleman on the train a 
detailed account of the shooting and slashing affair 
held a few days since by the robbers and gendarmes, at 
the house of the former. Dancing was on the cards and 
though the gendarmes, who were self-invited guests, went 
at an unfashionably late hour, their hosts received them 
with open arms, i. e., knives and pistols. One gendarme 
succumbed to a bullet, another to a blow from a machete. 
A third received wounds from which he died the next 
day. At this juncture more guests arrived in the persons 
of the Jefe Politico and the soldiers. One robber was 
taken. The others escaped to the mountains, where two 
were captured and shot. In the meantime the first pris- 
oner had been executed close by the cemetery to save a 
funeral procession. It was also rumored that a female 
robber who had been aiding and abetting her admirers 
was sent to keep him company. The small local sheet, 
El Amiga del Pueblo, touched lightly on the aifair, and 
pleaded lack of time and space to go into details regard- 
ing six more bandits whose obsequies would take place 
the following day. This was all discussed in the town 
" under the rose," but to the casual observer Uruapan's 
serenity remained unruffled. There were plenty of 
swarthy barefooted soldiers lounging about the cuartel; 
the town was patrolled day and night by uniformed (and 
barefoot) gendarmes, and occasionally a body of rurales 
rode through on their splendid horses. Clearly the Jefe 
Politico was a man of nerve and action, and meant to 
make Uruapan and its surroundings as secure for resi- 
dents and visitors, as other parts of the republic. 

When we reached Uruapan it had been raining. We 



140 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

boarded the stage which was drawn by a spike-team of 
mules ; but the roads were heavy and the " point of the 
spike " refused to be driven, turning around and trying to 
chmb on the front seat where I sat with the driver. The 
latter, who was yelling " like a wild Indian," gave me the 
reins at this juncture and got off to straighten out things. 
He took the obstreperous leader by the head and yelled : I 
pounded the wheelers on the back and yelled as near like 
him as possible : there was a plunge, a lurch, and we 
were off; the driver regaining his seat by a sort of 
handspring, and continuing to emit yells at the rate of a 
new one a second, till we landed at the hotel. 

It was a new hotel of two stories, with large, clean, 
airy rooms, tile floors and iron bedsteads. Prices were 
fifty cents daily for all except rooms on the street which 
were one dollar. The restaurant was separate, the pro- 
prietor himself superintending the cooking. The serv- 
ice was good and cost a dollar a day. 

Uruapan is built on the hillside, and commands an ex- 
tended view of the valley and the mountains beyond. 
The surrounding roads are good and so are the saddle 
horses. At the time I arrived, Uruapan was having a 
boom and did n't know whether to be glad or sorry ; nor 
what to do with it. A boom is a thing that strikes a town 
like a cyclone, only worse ; for while your cyclone does a 
neat job, removing the town carefully and effectually, the 
boom simply whisks it up in the air, toys with it a while, 
and then lets it down so hard that it takes the rest of its 
natural life to get its breath again. Uruapan's boom I 
rejoice to say was not of this dangerous character. It 
was a mild, indolent, mafiana boom, tempered by siestas 
and church festivals. The climate undoubtedly had some- 
thing to do with keeping it from becoming unmanage- 
able. It is true new houses were being built and many 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 141 

old ones repaired; but in the time of rains one can't be 
expected to carry adobes and work in the rain. Again if 
the sun shines, just as Hkely as not it is some one's dia 
santo, and there you are again. Seeing some workmen 
loitering in quite a pretentious building evidently about 
half-completed, I asked them when it would be finished. 

Pues quien sahe! It had already been six years un- 
derway, and it would take at least three more. The 
senor must realize that it is a question of much time to 
build so big a house. 

In this way Uruapan's boom was progressing in a slow 
and dignified manner, without any fuss. 

Another thing Uruapan had not fully made up its 
mind about was the railroad, which caused the boom 
and was erecting substantial passenger and freight depots 
of gray stone. Of course the maquina lands one at the 
capital inside of twenty-four hours. But one could al- 
ways go on a horse in nine days. The road was quite 
good, when it was not raining, with only occasional 
handidos, which gave opportunity for a little pistol prac- 
tice. True rents were higher and for that matter every- 
thing brought a better price than formerly. Tourists 
come with the maquina and their money is good money. 
All the same, things were very well as they were ; and if 
the railroad had actually arrived, it was no fault of Urua- 
pan's. 

This was all perfectly natural; and while, were it not 
for the railroad, I should not have been there, I could 
sympathize with Uruapan. When we have lived for 
three centuries and some odd scores of years, conserving 
the customs and traditions of our fathers, leading a quiet, 
peaceful existence, undisturbed except by an occasional 
revolution, conducting our affairs, public and private, not 
as the outside world would have us perhaps, but as we 



142 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

ourselves approve and prefer, is it strange if we regard 
with apprehension mixed with distrust the approach of 
that strange, unrestful thing called " progress," which 
comes with the maquina of the foreigner and is spelled 
with a capital " P " ? 

I was glad that I reached Uruapan before the moss of 
three centuries had been seriously disturbed. The rail- 
road took me there, and then, owing to a timely wash- 
out, the trains stopped running. Uruapan, once more 
isolated, began spelling " progress " with a small " p." 
The whistle of the maquina no longer disturbed our 
morning slumber. I imagined that I detected a covert 
look of satisfaction on the faces of the dons, as we as- 
sembled leisurely at the post-office to await the arrival of 
the mail, which came on horseback. Truly it was like 
old times ! It gave one time to look about a bit and talk 
with one's friends. Then too, there was always the 
subject of the mail to fall back on. There is a delightful 
sense of chance, of uncertainty about a horse which a 
maquina has no part in. Will the mail arrive this morn- 
ing, this afternoon, or not at all? Of course if the mail 
mozo be on good terms with his sweetheart, who lives in 
the next village, the chances are that he will dally, and 
hence the mail will be quite late. If they have quarreled, 
his horse will be the sufferer, and I shall have my letters 
before noon. I am therefore divided between a friendly 
interest in the good fortune of the mail mozo, and the 
desire to have my letters. When I receive them, twenty 
steps will take me to a comfortable bench in the garden 
in front of the church, which is full of roses, and shaded 
by magnificent ash trees, whose moss-covered trunks 
and great size proclaim their age. The old church, whose 
front is a dull terra-cotta, has also its garniture of 
emerald moss on its cornices and moldings. God and 




The road to Uruapan 




Falls of Tzararacua, Uruapan 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 145 

the Bishop forbid that church ever being scraped or 
renovated ! 

The churches in Uruapan are much plainer than any in 
Mexico and suggest in their simpHcity the Cahfornia 
missions. The building is interesting, as in all parts of 
the country, and seems entirely an outgrowth from nat- 
ural conditions. The main building material is adobe. 
The roofs are usually tile, and project far over the side- 
walks, thus keeping them dry and affording shelter from 
both sun and rain. Bridges and gates are invariably 
covered by a picturesque shake roof, which shelters the 
pedestrian and preserves the structure. The rainy sea- 
son is not a matter of a daily downpour of a few hours, 
with sunshine before and after, but often means a steady, 
soaking rain all day and all night. The town has two 
plazas, separated by a large building surrounded by 
portales. In the first there is a fountain with bushes that 
suggest lilacs, only their blooms are a bright pink. This 
plaza is filled with stalls of the Indians selling every- 
thing from fruit and sweets to shoes and clothing, while 
in the second are the band stand and more stalls. An- 
other building with portales follows and then comes the 
really beautiful garden, with a monument to the heroes 
of the war of the empire. This arrangement of parks, 
in the center of the town, is very pleasing and shows that 
the founders had an eye for beauty. 

Uruapan's lasting fame is built on its coffee plantations. 
You may ride in any direction, and pass miles of vigorous 
coffee plants interspersed with and overshadowed by 
banana palms. Many of the plants are loaded with the 
delicate white blossoms, whose faint aroma approaches 
white lilac, while others have the berry in every stage 
of development. Each berry has two kernels, with 
the exception of the highly prized Caracolillo, whose 



146 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

single kernel is supposed to possess the concentrated 
essence of two of the others. Trees bear at the age of 
four years. A skilful hand can pick from five to six 
arrobas (25 lbs. each) in a day, and earns six reales 
(seventy-five cents). The berries must be gathered with 
great care not to break the tiny stem about a quarter of 
an inch long, which immediately forms another bud. In 
addition to bananas, pineapples, oranges, lemons, mangos, 
and aguacates, I also saw the morera tree whose leaves 
are quite large, fine in texture, and with a sheen that 
gives them the actual appearance of crinkled silk ; so that 
they seem intended by nature for the ultimate end, which 
is achieved with the aid of the silkworm. 

What is there to do in Uruapan, do you ask? In the 
morning there are the baths, with one large tank of crys- 
tal-clear water, where the sunshine streams in through 
the dilapidated roof, and innumerable small rooms, spot- 
lessly clean, with whole roofs, and with showers of hot 
and cold water. If you go in the tank, however, you will 
be in fine shape for a horseback ride. The acknowledged 
tariff is cuatro reales (or fifty cents), for a good animal 
for half a day. 

The beautiful Cupatitzio River is Uruapan's pride, and 
several roads lead to it with always a charming view of 
foaming waters and cascades. The falls of Tzararacua 
are very beautiful and well worth the hour and a half 
ride, which at the last is through the pine woods, and 
down a wild and picturesque canon. The water makes a 
sheer descent of at least a hundred and fifty feet, ending 
in a large pool in the bottom of the canon. In spite of 
the beauty of the falls and the vegetation, there is some- 
thing rather terrible in the deep and solitary ravine, and 
the tremendous roar of the water, especially if one be 
alone. I was wondering if any unfortunate had ever 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 147 

gone over the brink, when an Indian suddenly appeared 
from nowhere, and seemed as much surprised to see me 
as I was to see him. I asked him if any one had ever 
gone over and he said yes, that a woman had ; and that 
he found her body in that very spot. She was bathing 
far up the river and was swept under by the current. 
He was looking for stray cattle and coming into the 
cailon found the poor thing on the edge of the pool. He 
expressed his surprise at my going there alone and said 
at this season the place was sad ; but that after the rains, 
it would be the scene of much festivity, the Indians going 
there on Sundays to pass the day in feasting and dancing, 
and returning home decked with flowers and garlands. 

I had a funny experience in connection with the tariff 
on saddle horses. The administrador mentioned the price, 
as fifty cents for half a day, on my arrival, and sent at my 
request for a man who rented horses. I asked this worthy 
what he would let me have a horse every morning for and 
he said seventy-five cents. Of course this was cheap, but 
at the same time I did n't like the idea of his raising the 
price simply because I was an American. I told him so, 
and he immediately dropped to fifty cents, but looked as 
though he meant to get even. The next morning he sent 
me a white rack-a-bones, with a hip knocked down, and 
his ribs projecting like barrel hoops. I returned him 
with some doubt as to his getting back to the pension, 
and the gentleman I was going out with sent for one of 
his own horses. The next day I interviewed a new man. 
He had a good horse but the price was seventy-five cents. 
I made further inquiries of disinterested individuals, and 
they agreed that there were saddle horses to burn at fifty, 
but evidently not for me ! Every horse owner I asked 
said seventy-five. It was evident the owner of the white 
horse was boycotting me, and I determined not to be 



148 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

boycotted. I heard of an ancient Mexican on the out- 
skirts of the town who had good horses, and went to see 
him. He had evidently not been tampered with. He 
said the price was fifty cents and that he would get a 
horse in from his rancho for me. The next morning I 
paraded a spirited little pacer, in all the bravery of 
the old man's embroidered saddle and silver bit, before 
the face of my horsey friend. I was still chuckling 
when the mozo came the next morning with the horse, 
and a message from the old man, that he should have to 
charge me seis reales, each time. I sent word that I 
should keep to my agreement. I put the horse through 
that morning, thinking it might be my last ride with him, 
and fell so in love with him I almost felt like weakening; 
but I thought of the white-horse man, and determined 
to resort to that faithful if plodding steed known as 
" Shank's mare, " before he should have the laugh on 
me. I was in the midst of dinner when there was a 
knock, and the old Mexican entered, in silver-trimmed 
charro suit, big hat, clanking spurs and a sword. Seis 
reales was written all over the wily old countenance. I 
whispered cuatro to myself and gave him a chair. I also 
gave him a drink, a purO and a cup of coffee. I showed 
him my spurs, my pistol, my watch, some photographs 
and my lemonade-shaker. I got him to tell me about 
his trip to Mexico and his fight with the bandits. Then 
I gave him another puro. When at last he tore himself 
away I handed him cuatro and asked him what the mozo 
meant by talking about seis. He professed profound 
ignorance and said there would never be any question of 
money between him and me. He had a flyer brought 
from his rancho that made the first pony fade into in- 
signifiance ; and he dropped in every day for cofifee and 
a chat with his " huen amigo el Americano." 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 149 

Uruapan was founded in 1533 by the good Fray Juan 
de San Miguel, who seems to have been a second Las 
Casas in his devotion to the Indians. Nothing is known 
regarding his birthplace, nor when he came to New 
Spain. He appeared in 1531 with another priest named 
Antonio de Lisboa, among the Indians of Morelia, which 
was then called Valle de Olid after the Spanish captain, 
who took possession of Michoacan in the name of his 
sovereign. The original name of the town was later 
changed to Valladolid. These poor priests, barefooted 
and in rags, with but five reales between them, won the 
confidence and love of the Indians and built a Christian 
church. Fray Juan de San Miguel subsequently trav- 
ersed the whole of Michoacan, collecting the frightened 
Indians, converting them to Christianity, founding 
pueblos and building churches. He established schools 
in all of which music was taught, and the best voices were 
selected for the service of the church. Uruapan is said 
not only to occupy the loveliest spot in the valley, but in 
the whole state. When the good padre saw the beautiful 
river Cupatitzio with its abundance of clear cold water, 
he recognized an ideal place for a town, and at once be- 
gan apportioning lots of land to the people, laying out the 
plazas and the streets, and dividing the town into barrios 
or districts. After directing the building of houses for 
the Indians and the planting of grain and fruit trees, he 
began the erection of the church ; and later built the 
hospital which is said to have been the second hospital 
in the Americas. This was necessary for housing the 
multitude of poor and infirm Indians who besieged him 
for protection. Here they found a home and were pro- 
vided with employment which made them in a measure 
self-supporting. The statue of this devoted man still 
adorns the front of the little chapel of La Purisima, and 



I50 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

his portrait hangs in the sacristy of the ancient church. 
His memory is held in love and reverence, not only in the 
valley of Uruapan, but in all the state of Michoacan. 

While in Uruapan, I read a book written in 1639 by 
Fray Alonso de la Rea, who was evidently a cultured 
man, and who wrote in a clear and concise manner. The 
good padre says that in spite of conflicting opinions as 
to the origin of the Tarasco Indians, he is satisfied they 
were not the first settlers of Michoacan, but that they are 
actually a branch of the Aztecs or Mexicans, who were 
the last of the incoming northern tribes. He says the 
ancients of the tribe claim that their people came with 
eight other nations from a place called Chicomotztotl, 
meaning " Seven Caves." (Modern historians refer to 
this point, which is north of Zacatecas, merely as a rest- 
ing-place on the line of march.) He was satisfied of 
the main accuracy of their statement, from the existence 
of a very old painting on cloth, which still existed in the 
pueblo of Cucutacato, near Uruapan. This depicted the 
departure of nine tribes from seven caves, and their sub- 
sequent journeyings. The padre again refers to Seven 
Caves as being in the country called by the Indians 
" Aztlan. " (The best authorities are now agreed that 
Aztlan was in California.) 

The Tarascos, who were then an offshoot from the 
nine tribes but principally from the Azteca, founded 
Tzintzuntzan, which comes from Tzintzuni, meaning lit- 
tle bird with green plumage, that sips the honey of flowers 
(hummingbird). Another name for the same bird was 
Huitzilin, from which came Huitzilopochtli, the title of 
the Mexican war-god. The birth of the god Huitzilo- 
pochtli typified the immaculate conception of the Indians. 
His mother Coatlicue, the goddess with the skirt of 
serpents, was sweeping the temple on the hill of Coatepec, 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 151 

when she saw roHing towards her a coil of feathers. She 
caught it up and placed it beneath her waistband. She 
immediately became pregnant, and in due time, being still 
a virgin, bore Huitzilopochtli, who came into the world 
with a shield in his left hand, while his right clasped a 
dart or arrow of a blue color. His face was terrible 
from the first, showing his fierce nature. On his brow 
was a tuft of the bright green feathers of the humming- 
bird. The Indians said his name was also partly de- 
rived from Tlahuipochi, " he who vomits fire," and the 
god was depicted as being engaged in this pleasant occu- 
pation. In this tradition originated the manufacture of 
the famous green feather work for which these Indians 
were noted, " and thus we see that the Tarascos were 
led by this false god," says Fray Alonso. 

Among the most admirable qualities of these people, 
was their ingenuity, which was not confined to one or two 
materials, but showed itself in all they did. " Thus their 
works are known and applauded throughout the world." 
They were particularly successful as sculptors, and 
so skilful in painting that all the churches of this province 
are adorned by hangings and pictures made by these same 
Indians ; " with such beauty of color, that we need not 
envy even the brush of Rome ! " They were the in- 
ventors of foundry-work, and before the conquest made 
sundry small castings which they bartered with the other 
nations in trade. Under the guidance of master work- 
men, who came with the frailes, they became wonder- 
fully efficient in making bells, trumpets and sackbuts. 
(The clock bells in the church at Uruapan are literally 
" silvered-toned. ") Among the articles of feather-work 
were pictures, images, shields, tapestries, miters and 
robes. The Periban painting (on wood) was invented 
here. It is not only beautiful, but so lasting as to be 



152 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

hardly affected by time : seeming to become part of the 
wood itself and lasting while the wood lasts. The process 
consists in applying first a coat of varnish, and rubbing it 
dry. The pattern or drawing is then pricked into the 
wood with a graver, and the colors laid on and rubbed 
with the palm of the hand, until a gloss equal to the 
finest lacquer is obtained. The articles made are writing 
desks, boxes, trunks, tecomates, vases, trays, bowls and 
jars. This craft seems to have deteriorated, at least as 
to variety. The Indians still make a number of small 
articles that are very attractive. 

The Tarascos are also famous for their life-like sculp- 
tures of the body of Christ, which are prized throughout 
Europe. It is true, they had their first examples of the 
effigy in those brought by the priests ; but they are the 
inventors of a remarkable paste which lends itself won- 
derfully to the work. To make this they cut the young 
corn stalks and extract the heart, which they grind into 
a pulp or paste called tatzingueni, from which they make 
the famous Christos de Michaacan. These images are 
not only beautifully proportioned, but so light that while 
many are six feet high, they weigh no more than if made 
of feathers. In addition to all these achievements, 
they have also made organs entirely of wood, and pos- 
sessed of most beautiful tone. 

The Tarascos were and are still serious and thorough in 
all that pertains to their religion. Among their ancient 
ceremonies, the burial of their kings is noteworthy. 
When a monarch realized that his end was at hand, he 
appointed his eldest son his successor, and began to in- 
struct him in all that pertained to his office. The new 
king then summoned all the nobles to assist in the last 
sad rites. The one who failed to appear was considered 
a traitor to the crown. Each was expected to condole 




A Tarasco fiesta 




Los gallos (cock-fight) 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 155 

with the dying monarch and to bring some rich gift. At 
the last moment all were denied entrance to the death 
chamber, unless some one proclaimed himself able to 
avert the fatal stroke. When all was over, every one 
was admitted and the lamentations began, followed by 
the pomps and ceremonials of the interment. 

The body was first bathed and then clothed in a long 
robe, and the sandals (emblem of valor) were attached to 
the feet. The ankles had golden bells and the wrists, 
strings of turquoise. The headdress was of plumes with 
rich embroidery and jewels. There were splendid collars 
and necklaces, ear-rings, bracelets and an emerald pend- 
ant for the lower lip called teutitl. The body was 
placed on a bier and covered with a mantle, on which 
was painted a portrait of the dead king with all his 
adornments. The women were then admitted to wail and 
mourn over their departed lord. 

The next step is to designate the men and women who 
are to serve him in the next world, and must suffer death 
to accompany him. These are named by his successor, 
who first selects seven women whose offices are as fol- 
lows : one tO' bear the hezotes (lip-rings) used by the 
king, which are of inestimable value; one for jewel- 
keeper; one cup-bearer; one aguamanos (hand washer) ; 
a cook, and two servants. The men form a much larger 
company including one each of the following named: 
keeper of the wardrobe; hair-comber; hair-brusher ; 
wreath-maker; chair-bearer; wood-chopper; mosqueador 
(fly-killer); fire-blower; shoe-maker; perfume-bearer; 
oarsman; boatman; sweeper; white- washer ; king's por- 
ter ; porter for the women ; feather-worker ; silver-smith ; 
bow and arrow maker; tavern-keeper; buffoon or jester; 
("that el inHerno may not lack in jollity!" adds the 
padre). There were also hunters and several doctors, 



156 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

among them those who had failed to cure the king in his 
last illness. Then came the musicians and a host of 
volunteers, who, if worthy people, were not allowed to 
carry out their design of self-sacrifice. 

The funeral procession left the palace at midnight, 
preceded first by people weeping and cleaning the way 
and then by the victims, whose heads were adorned with 
wreaths and their bodies painted bright yellow. Next 
came the musicians with clarinets, trumpets and drums 
of tortoise shell. The bier was borne on the shoulders 
of the sons and chief nobles, and accompanied by many 
torch-bearers, all chanting as they went the glories of the 
departed, together with the praises of his successor. 
On reaching the temple enclosure, they circled four 
times the huge funeral pyre, and then placed the body 
on the summit, still chanting as they set it on fire. Then 
while it was burning, they caught and killed the aforesaid 
servants who were to attend their master, beating them 
over the heads with heavy clubs. These wretches had 
been previously stupefied with drink, that they might not 
resist. Their bodies were cast, two and two, into im- 
mense jars. This slaughter lasted till daybreak, when the 
ashes of the king were enveloped in the mantle which 
had covered the body, together with the melted jewels and 
ornaments, and carried to the entrance of the temple. 
Over the remains were placed a mask of turquoise, a 
golden shield, and bow and arrows. A large tomb was 
opened in the stairway of the temple. A noble then took 
the ashes of his sovereign in his arms, and, entering the 
tomb placed them upon a bed richly ornamented with 
gold and silver. A huge olla was then introduced in 
the shape of a man. The remains were placed in it, and 
the olla sealed and left with its face turned to the east, 
after being wrapped in mantles. The urns containing 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 157 

the servants' bodies followed, with articles for domestic 
service, plumes, costumes for feasts and many jewels. 
The tomb was then closed and sealed. All who had 
touched the bodies bathed carefully to avoid a pest and 
the company returned to the palace. There they were 
seated in chairs richly carved, and feasted elaborately. A 
handkerchief was then given to each, and they were ex- 
pected to remain for five days, seated in the court, with 
bowed heads and funereal aspect, without uttering a 
word to any one. During these five days no corn was 
ground, nor fire lighted. Later they retired to their 
homes to continue fasting and praying for the repose of 
the monarch's soul ; and the nobles went every night to the 
temple to renew their lamentations at the tomb. 

These wearisome and long-drawn-out, not to say hor- 
rible, rites must have been purgatory on earth for all 
concerned; and doubtless before they were ended the 
new king almost wished the old one had n't died. The 
Tarascos, who are everywhere in evidence in this land, 
are said to be as formal and punctilious in all observances 
of their present religion, as they were in the old, and 
serious at all times. Their ancient splendor has vanished 
and one almost wonders if such things have really been. 
They still hold the quaintest fiestas in the different barrios, 
where the music, decorations and customs are unique 
and half barbaric ; but in all their feasting, drinking and 
dancing they preserve absolute, unmoved solemnity. 



/ 



CHAPTER VI 

Return to Mexico : Mexicans True Friends : Queretaro the 
Beautiful : The Works of Tres Guerras : The Aqueduct : A 
Visit to the Hill of The Bells: The Country Remained at 
Peace: Guadalajara the Pearl of the West: The City's Even- 
ing Life : In Beauty's Ranks : The Charro Horseman : 
Things that are Different: Social Customs: An Inquisitive 
Shopkeeper. 

URUAPAN'S boom never came to life again dur- 
ing my stay of four weeks. This was due to 
the heavy and continuous rains and to repeated 
washouts on the railroad, which prevented the running of 
trains, without which no boom can survive. Despite 
the daily downpour, the mornings were usually fine, and 
I seldom missed an early ride, often returning as fast 
as my horse could run in a warm, drenching rain. The 
storms are sudden and violent, and while Uruapan has' 
a temperate and quite ideal climate, it is situated on the 
edge of the hot country, which it in some ways resembles. 
I began to long for Mexico City, and feeling rested 
and refreshed by the balmy air and constant out-of-door 
exercise, and with nerves relaxed by the lower altitude 
(Uruapan's altitude is but 5,500 feet) I resolved to re- 
turn to Mexico. I had heard that the road-bed was be- 
ing repaired, but as rumors were vague as to when the 
trains would go through, I engaged a mozo, with saddle 
and pack-animals, to convoy me in the direction of the 
capital, with the agreement that he should not desert me 
until he saw me on board a railway train. This gave 

158 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO i6i 

me an opportunity to see the rich coffee plantations, 
through which we were riding all day. Fortunately for me 
the rains held off, and I enjoyed the journey, which was 
marred by but one accident. The mule that was carry- 
ing my trunk got mired in a mud-hole and sank rapidly 
until only her head and the top of my trunk were visible. 
The mozo jumped off his horse and leaped in after her 
and I feared both would be lost. But at that moment a 
number of pack mules came in sight, from the opposite 
direction, and the two Indians who were in charge of 
them jumped off their horses and into the mud-hole to 
help my mozo. It was a funny sight but for them doubt- 
less a common occurrence. With grunts, whistles and 
cheerful ejaculations, among which was the familiar 
" Andale ! " they half-shoved, half-lifted the mule out of 
the mud-hole. A more good-natured bit of " lend-a- 
hand " work I never saw, and while I gave them money, 
it seemed a poor return for their prompt and friendly 
aid. The best of all, though, were the compliments ex- 
changed between them and my mozo on parting, when 
they gravely lifted their hats to each other. 

Shortly after sundown we arrived at the railway junc- 
tion of Acambaro, where I found the road intact, and 
where I shared the kind hospitality of the American 
foreman who was living in a box-car, and who made me 
welcome to supper and a bed. The following morning 
I got a train for Mexico City, arriving there late that 
night. 

I now began to appreciate the pleasures of friendship 
with the Mexicans. Don Juan, my other fellow- 
boarders, and my hostess received me so kindly as to 
make my return seem a veritable home-coming. They 
plied me with questions about the cities I had visited, 
and I then observed what always impressed me while in 



i62 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

Mexico, namely the manifest pleasure of the Mexicans 
in the enjoyment of visitors to their country. After 
several weeks at the pleasant house in Calle San Agustin, 
which I soon came to regard as home, and which I made 
my headquarters throughout my stay in the country, I 
decided to go on another journey. My friends now ad- 
vised me to visit Queretaro, the capital of the state of the 
same name, famed for its fine churches, and Guadalajara, 
capital of the state of Jalisco, which for its many charms 
is often called " Pearl of the Occident." Don Juan, 
whose vacations were near, invited me to visit him at 
his home, which was in Lagos, a city I must pass through 
in going north. This was my first invitation to visit the 
home of a friend, and I accepted it with pleased antici- 
pation. We accordingly agreed that after a month spent 
in visiting Queretaro, Guadalajara and Guanajuato, 
which the Howards had told me was the quaintest, most 
picturesque city in Mexico, I should proceed to the city 
of Lagos, where Don Juan would meet me at the station. 
And such was my trust in Don Juan's loyalty I had 
no more doubt that I should find him there at the ap- 
pointed time than that I should be there myself. 

Don Juan further showed his interest in my travels 
by accompanying me to the train, which left for 
Queretaro at nine a. m. The custom of seeing friends 
off in Mexico is immutable. The time has been when a 
Mexican friend would rise before daylight to accompany 
me to the train and I knew protestation would be vain. 
It is customary between friends. It would have been 
the same to Don Juan had the Queretaro train left at 
midday or at midnight. With a hearty hug, which I 
now participated in as naturally as hand-shaking, we 
said " Adios ! " and " Hasta luego ! " which means " Until 
soon! " and I was once more en camino (en route). 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 163 

We reached Queretaro in the middle of the afternoon. 
I was tempted to beheve that the cargador who hailed 
me, saying, "Here I am, my chief!" had run all the 
way from Mexico he looked so natural. I have heard 
strange tales of these Indians traveling across lots and 
beating railway trains. He held up his badge to show 
me his number, assuring me I could trust him, so I 
handed my traps through the window. A street car ran 
from the station to the center of the city and on reaching 
the terminus, the driver, who was India legithno, wound 
the reins round the brake and politely escorted me to 
my hotel. Centavos are but slight return for such cour- 
tesies as these. 

It was at the hotel, however, that I discovered my 
star was really in the ascendant. I had long heard of 

Doctor S as a charming and cultured man who, 

after traveling the world over, had settled on Queretaro 
for a home. I thought I might venture to introduce my- 
self on the strength of our having a mutual friend; but 
resolved to be most discreet. Foreign residents, in good 
standing in Mexico, do not as a rule suffer from any 
lack of visitors. Judge of my amazement then when 
the doctor, after regarding me searchingly for a moment, 
asked, " Are you the man who likes Mexico ? " I put 
on a bold front and answered, " At your service." Then 
I cast a surreptitious glance over my shoulder half ex- 
pecting to see a gendarme at the door. What had I 
ever said about doctors ? But the doctor did n't turn 
me over to the authorities. He took me under his be- 
nevolent wing then and there. As a result I had an 
opportunity to view the art treasures of this ancient 
city, as only one with a friend at court can do, and to 
hear the world-reminiscences of a most interesting man. 

Our first visit was to the Governor's palace. The 



1 64 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

doctor said he had business at the palace, asking with an 
apology if I would mind waiting for him a few minutes. 
He led the way into the reception sala and called my 
attention to the magnificent chairs and tables of solid 
mahogany, beautifully carved, and the great mirrors in 
their superb gold frames. Then a gentleman appeared 
in the door at the end of the sala and bowed. The 
doctor arose and asked me to accompany him. We 
passed into an adjoining room and I found myself in 
the presence of the Governor of Queretaro. Had I 
realized the honor before me I should have been a bit 
nervous and tried to think what I should say. My 
anxiety would have been needless, however, for no vis- 
itor could be ill at ease with Governor Cosio. Like 
many distinguished men, he possessed the courtesy and 
kindliness that are reassuring and delightful to strangers. 
He at once addressed us in English and paid us the com- 
pliment of speaking English throughout our visit. He 
was a very handsome man in the prime of life, elegant, 
dignified, yet singularly unassuming. I shall remember 
our visit as a most delightful experience. 

We afterwards saw the palace. The museum, which 
occupies one of the smaller salas, is an impressive and 
significant exhibit. There are the relics recalling the 
tragic end of a dream-empire, and the sad fate of Maxi- 
milian, Miramon, Mejia and Mendez. One of the most 
interesting objects is the rusty lock, through whose key- 
hole the famous Corregidora (chief magistrate's wife) 
Doha Josefa Ortiz de Dominguez, a prisoner in her own 
house by order of her husband, sent a whispered message 
to Hidalgo that his plans were discovered, thereby pre- 
cipitating the grito (cry) of independence and the revo- 
lution. A portrait of this noble dame shows a strong 
commanding face, suggesting the patrician, but above 




Two views of the patio in the federal palace, Queretaro 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 167 

all the fearless, patriotic spirit, ready to do and dare all 
for her beloved country. 

Queretaro's churches are superb. They are quite dif- 
ferent from those of Mexico, Puebla and Morelia. It 
was here that Tres Guerras lavished the wealth of his 
wonderful genius. One need not be an artist to be af- 
fected by this man's work. The church of Santa Rosa, 
with its lovely tower and dome and quaint flying-but- 
tresses, all distinctly Oriental, is startlingly beautiful. 
Much of the interior is by Tres Guerras' own hand. 
The main altar has been destroyed, but the side altars 
with their magnificent gold and green ornamentation 
are still left. The paintings are Tres Guerras' : the ex- 
quisite crucifix is his : and all are perfect. The end of 
the sacristry is filled by a large canvas showing the old 
convent garden, with the nuns at their duties among the 
flowers. From the church, where we had been received 
kindly by the good padre, a gentle and courteous man, 
we wandered into the old convent gardens and through 
the orchard, under drooping boughs and trailing vines. 
On every side towered masses of solid masonry. The 
convent is now used as a hospital but it is so extensive 
that a large portion of it is necessarily unoccupied. 

I have written of Santa Rosa because it is the crown- 
ing glory of Queretaro. Every one will tell you that. 
Even the Indian of whom you ask the name of another 
church will inquire anxiously if you have seen Santa 
Rosa. Another splendid building is the old convent of 
the Augustines, now the Federal Palace. It has the 
finest patio I have seen, with a lovely old fountain and 
corridors of the rose-colored Queretaro stone, magnifi- 
cently carved. The gorgeous tower of the church, seen 
from the patio, never finished yet grand in its incom- 
pleteness, adds the sadly poetic note common to Mexico's 



i68 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

ancient edifices. Santa Clara, San Felipe, Santo Do- 
mingo and many others are also very imposing. I know 
little about building but revere it above all the other arts, 
and realize dimly its influence on humanity. Not all 
pictures nor all music are for all people; but buildings 
are. I felt this as never before when the Indian in- 
quired so anxiously, " Have you seen Santa Rosa ? " 

Another example of wonderful building is the great 
aqueduct which brings an abundance of crystal-clear 
water to Queretaro. First you must see it by day. 
Note its seventy-two arches, the center one more than 
sixty feet in the clear and its great length of over six 
hundred meters. Then go again at moonrise. The 
arches cast their long shadows across the quiet valley 
and the ruined hacienda lies white and silent in the 
moonlight. Aqueducts lend a certain stateliness to a 
city, like that given a mansion by a long approach be- 
tween rows of trees. They are monuments to courage, 
skill and untiring labor and they confer on the city to 
which they pay tribute, all the dignity that these terms 
convey. 

Queretaro owes her aqueduct to her noble benefactor, 
the Marques de la Villa del Villar del Aguila, who gave 
$88,000 from his private purse. The total cost of con- 
struction was something over $131,000. It was begun in 
1726 and completed nine years later. In the Plaza de la 
Independencia there is a fine statue of the Marques by 
Diego Alamaras Guillen. It is beautifully carved from 
native stone and its noble proportions and life-like pose 
mark the sculptor a man of genius. The pedestal rises 
from a fountain basin, begun in 1843. The original 
statue was destroyed by a cannon ball during the siege 
of '67. 

The lineal descendants of the last marques and the 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 169 

direct heir to the title is Dr. Jose Fernandez de Jauregui, 
a resident of Queretaro, whom I had the pleasure of 
meeting. Among the heirlooms in Dr. Jauregui's pos- 
session are the gorgeous costumes worn by his ancestors, 
the marques and his lady. They are more than a cen- 
tury and a half old, yet the gloss of the velvet, the sheen 
of the satin are undimmed by time. There is a won- 
derful gown of emerald green velvet heavily embroidered 
in gold, with a little shoulder cape brilliant with cut 
stones and embroidery. There is a dress of apricot 
satin, wrought with silver and one fancies the rich beauty 
of the marquesa at its best in this setting. The marques 
was just as resplendent in velvet and brilliants and gold 
embroidery with a silken montcra (net) to hold his 
long tresses which have left their mark on the coat- 
collars. By favor of Carlos V the family were allowed 
to employ the royal coat-of-arms in their decorations; 
and in the collection are a dozen or more medallions of 
silk and gold, which were used on the backs of chairs 
and divans. There are also some black pearl ornaments 
which are priceless. 

I like Queretaro. It is not only charming and pic- 
turesque but spotlessly clean. The air at this elevation, 
somewhat over six thousand feet, is mildly invigorating. 
I had always supposed the city's fame rested on its 
churches and its historic interest. In future I shall 
never tire of praising its perfect climate and its de- 
licious waters. The baths of Patche in the suburbs are 
medicinal and peculiarly efficacious in rheumatism. The 
favorite bathing resort, however, is the beautiful Canada, 
forty-minutes' ride by street car from the center of the 
city. I .wish I might write more at length of Queretaro, 
of its hospital, orphanage, and schools, especially the fine 
state college, with observatory and museum attached. 



I70 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

The young people have every educational advantage and 
among them are many brilliant musicians. That night 
we heard in rehearsal the " Pilgrim's Chorus " from 
" Tannhauser," by a full orchestra, accompanied by 
pianos and organ played by four fair young Queretanas. 
We were in the beautiful Plaza de la Independencia. 
The place was flooded with moonlight; the fountain was 
splashing softly; and on the still night air came the 
glorious strains of Wagner. 

The second evening we climbed el Cerro de las Cam- 
panas (Hill of the Bells) to watch the sun go down and 
see the mountain shadows fall upon the city. Austria's 
emperor was erecting a little chapel there in memory of 
his brother Maximilian, and the Generals Miramon and 
Mejia. The place was freighted with tragic memories; 
but the quiet beauty of the scene and the contented hum 
of voices (the hill was covered with people) made wars 
and unhappiness seem dim and far-off. 

Slowly the sun dropped back of the mountain, and then 
came the ethereal blue twilight over the city. The peo- 
ple were going home and we soon found ourselves quite 
alone save for one Indian, who remained motionless, 
looking intently across the valley, while a pet kid, that 
evidently belonged to him, went frisking about, like a 
dog, among the rocks. There is a strange interest at- 
tached to these dark-hued sons of the soil that I can 
never resist. What was he brooding over? we won- 
dered. At last we asked him about his goat. It was 
very gentle, he said; just like a little dog; it followed 
him everywhere. He and his pet were born on the 
same hacienda, but now they had left their old home 
and come to work near the city, gathering hay for the 
sefiores of Queretaro. Hours were too long on the 
hacienda — often from two in the morning till eight at 




The road to the hot country 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 173 

night and only 18 cents a day. Now he had his httle 
house, with his wife and one nino (baby) and his goat ; 
he sometimes earned fifty cents a day, " and," he added, 
" one can rest a little." At present he and the goat were 
out for a walk. He had a bright face and seemed to 
enjoy telling his little history. As we said, " hasta 
luego," we asked him casually regarding the chapel. 
It was for three generals he said, who were killed at the 
siege. One was Miramon, the other Mejia, and the 
other — quien sabe, he was a foreign general who came 
" walking " in the revolution. We pressed him in vain 
for the name. No, he could not remember, " He was 
a stranger — who knows his name?" "But," he added 
solemnly, " when they were shot, the country remained 
at peace." Then he said, " May you go well ! " and 
with a bound was off in the darkness followed by the 
goat. 

After a pleasant week spent in seeing Queretaro I took 
leave of my new friends and went on to Irapuato, where 
I changed cars for Guadalajara which I reached in the 
early evening. Guadalajara is simpatica. What a de- 
lightful word thaFis 1 " It expresses much in little as no 
other word can. It is essentially Latin. We northern 
peoples think it but seldom say it. In fact we have n't 
just the right word for it. We say a city is beautiful 
but that does n't mean the same ; a climate is delightful 
but that isn't it; a person charming, fascinating, mag- 
netic, and even then we haven't said the equivalent of 
simpatica. To my mind the nearest thing to it in Eng- 
lish is, " I like." In Mexico if we like a place and its 
people we say they are simpaticos and that tells the story. 
I had always heard this of Guadalajara. At the last, 
some of my friends in Mexico, whose homes are there, 
began to caution me. " Don't expect too much," they 



174 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

said, " you may be disappointed." But I had a feeling 
I should not be disappointed. Do we find what we look 
for I wonder ! Not always ! But the chances are 
largely in our favor. If we look on things in a friendly 
way we get the " glad eye " in return ; but a supercilious 
stare is apt to encounter el ojo de vidrio (glassy eye). 

The first thing that impressed me was a homelike 
feeling. I was not unprepared for this for my friends 
had said, " You will see when you are there -■ — the 
saguan doors open till late at night, the patios filled with 
flowers and electric light, the sehoritas promenading in 
the plaza and much music everywhere." It was just as 
they said. The air, though rather warmer than in Mex- 
ico, was fresh and pure. It had rained in the night and 
the day was like a northern day after a shower. 

The Plaza de Armas is very like that of Mexico in 
its surroundings. At the north is the Cathedral with 
its pointed, oriental-looking towers; the Governor's 
Palace, a beautiful edifice, is on the east, and at the south 
and west are portales as in Mexico. The garden is 
crowded with palms and flowering shrubs and the walks 
and benches are shaded by orange trees heavy with fruit. 
On Sunday morning a fine military band was playing 
and the seats were comfortably filled. With the flower- 
scented air and the golden fruit overhead I found myself 
quite astray as to the time of year. I could not get 
used to summer atmosphere when it should be fall. 
While October and November are delightful months in 
the north, they are always attended by the realization 
that their beauty is not for long: the decay of the year 
is always sad, and while the spring awakening more 
than atones, we know there is another autumn coming. 
The feeling that Mexico's delightful weather is going 
on and on gets us into easy ways perhaps, but I like it. 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 175 

I looked in vain for the promenaders on the plaza 
Sunday morning. Then I went and explored the por- 
tales. The west portales were thronged with Guadala- 
jara's fair ones, while all along against the store-fronts, 
were rows of chairs where people sat laughing and talk- 
ing. Such lovely faces, glorious eyes and dainty cos- 
tumes as I saw under the west portales ! 

Guadalajara is more of an evening city than any I 
had yet seen ; that is there is more out-of-door evening 
life. The nights are warm and windows are left wide 
open. You hear the chatter of voices, the music of 
guitar or piano and catch glimpses of richly furnished 
rooms in passing. There is music on the plaza four 
nights in the week and it seems a general breathing spot 
for the people. The class line does not seem quite so 
strictly drawn there and all grades meet on the plaza. 
The young peon in a zarape holds the blue-rebozo-girl's 
hand in the shade of the banana palm; the more settled 
ones smoke calmly on the benches ; ladies promenade 
bareheaded, arm in arm, and the babies romp about, 
with ayas at their heels. One evening it was growing 
dark when a small fairy in white, with a cloud of dark 
hair and big black eyes, detached herself from a flying 
band of companion fairies and did me the honor to 
alight beside me ; that is she sat down on the same bench 
and began swinging her feet. Finding myself tete-a-tete 
with so lovely and extremely young a sehorita I thought 
I might venture to speak to her. She was tired of play- 
ing, she informed me, and had left her friends to rest a 
moment. Oh, no, they were not stronger than she, a 
little larger that was all. I expected every moment to 
see a dark guardian in black shawl and white apron 
swoop down upon her, but nothing happened; and she 
sat and trilled her baby Castilian at me till suddenly 



176 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

that flying band appeared again. Then with a cunning 
little bow and a sweet " con permiso " (" with your per- 
mission ") she flew away. 

While these children were frolicking after dusk on the 
plaza the outer walk was crowded with Indians, listening 
to the music. It is enough to make one like the Indians 
to see how unreservedly children can be trusted among 
them. The peon class impresses one as distinctly 
superior. The people are cleanly and intelligent and 
there seems to be little drunkenness. Is this the reason 
they are allowed more privileges or is it a result? Ai 
certain recognition by their betters must certainly make 
the serving-classes more self-respecting. Another trib- 
ute to their good behavior are the few gendarmes. I 
missed the lanterns of the gendarmes at every crossing 
that we are used to in Mexico City. 

Guadalajara is an easy city to go about in. The 
streets are continuous instead of broken, as in Mexico 
City, with a different name for every square. The 
names of Mexico's streets are trying. When I have once 
left the Zocalo, I never know whether I am on Plateros 
or San Francisco : nor when Avenida Juarez ends and 
Patoni begins. Guadalajara is clean. Its great market 
always has the appearance of having been swept and 
tended. There seemed a scarceness of flowers, or per- 
haps I visited the market on an off day. The display of 
vegetables and fruits was fine. Camotes, the Mexican 
sweet potatoes, are abundant in these parts, but their 
Irish cousins are small as everywhere in Mexico. 

The population of Guadalajara is somewhat over one 
hundred and twenty thousand. The altitude is about six 
thousand feet. Among public works nearing comple- 
tion were new waterworks and modern city drainage. 
The waters of the Rio Grande were being utilized to the 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 177 

end of supplying from four to five thousand horse-power 
in electricity. The canal for this work was already fin- 
ished and I was told that in less than five years the city 
would have more than ten thousand horse-power in 
electricity, at a cost of from one-third to one-fourth of 
the present cost of steam, Guadalajara's greatest, im- 
provement, however, is the new railroad connecting this 
city with the Pacific port of Manzanillo, making Gua- 
dalajara the second city in commercial importance in the 
republic. 

Guadalajara oranges are famed for their delicious 
flavor. And here may be tasted in its perfection the 
noted vino de Tequila, a pleasant but heady beverage, 
which is made principally near the town of Tequila, a 
day's journey from Guadalajara. One large hacienda 
produces from fifty to a hundred barrels of tequila a 
day for export to Central and South America. 

The great charm of the country is its unending variety. 
The cities and their peoples retain their individuality 
to a surprising degree. In each place you encounter 
ways and customs quite different from any you have 
seen, and in each you hear of other places where the 
customs are still different. You naturally desire to visit 
these as well and there seems no end to the interest of 
traveling. In going from the capital to Guadalajara, 
you will notice a marked contrast in the customs of the 
two cities; but it takes time to appreciate the many lit- 
tle differences. These are largely due to climate, I 
think ; for instance after sunset, when the air in Mexico 
City is rather penetrating, in Guadalajara it is just fresh 
enough to make one wish to be out of doors. There 
was comparatively little driving. I saw some stylish turn- 
outs but the people as a rule seemed to prefer walking. 

The streets are most attractive in the evening. The 



178 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

ladies go for a stroll in the cool of the day, just between 
daylight and dark, and you see them sauntering about 
in light summer gowns, and frequently with heads un- 
covered. The portales are a favorite evening promenade. 
They are brilliantly lighted, and there are always chairs 
to rent if one cares to rest. The Sunday evening paseo, 
which is the event of the week, might justly be called, 
" A Dream of Fair Women." 

There was practically no begging in the streets and I 
was forgetting how to say, " Que le vaya con Dios ! " 
("May you go with God!") which a Mexican friend 
told me gratified the average beggar quite as much, if not 
more than centavos ; and which I found far less expensive. 
You hear little of lack of bread here. Every night the 
street before the cathedral is thronged with little 
kitchens, doing a thriving business, and there is food 
to burn judging from the odors. There are no empenos 
or ordinary pawn-shops in Guadalajara, there is only a 
monte de piedad and two branch offices. There is a 
respectable air to these places that dispels the romance. 
It is in your dusty, ill-smelling, sure enough pawn-shop 
on an out-of-the-way street in Mexico City, where the 
Gachupin in attendance does not deign to notice you and 
can with difficulty be persuaded to name a price, that the 
thing becomes deeply, intensely interesting, and you not 
infrequently find a prize. 

El Baratillo in Guadalajara is as large as Mexico'sj 
Plaza Mayor. It is wholly unlike any other place. 
There are the usual collections of old iron, crockery 
and miscellaneous junk,- and besides there are vegetable 
and fruit stands, restaurants, and places where they sell 
a pint of charcoal or a single stick of wood. The latter 
is displayed in little pyramids of four puny sticks, at 
three cents for the lot which I consider dear. The two 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 179 

extremes of city and country meet in the Baratillo. You 
see the dingy collector of old clothes and scrap-iron side 
by side with the fresh-looking ranchero, who has 
tramped since sunrise the day before, behind his little 
train of burros laden with sugar cane, and come to sell 
his wares in the plaza. The former recognized me at 
once as his lawful prey and began producing rusty spurs, 
candlesticks, and old jewelry. The latter stared in open- 
eyed wonder, but when I inquired about the cana he 
promptly chopped off a hunk and invited me to try it. 
It is quite customary for all hucksters to ask you to prove 
their wares and their patrons as a rule seem hard to 
please. The woman with boiled calabazas (pumpkins) for 
sale is most obliging. She has them loaded on a burro in 
two great baskets or panniers. When a customer ap- 
pears, she jabs a knife into one of the pumpkins and 
presents it for trial. The customer tastes, smacks her 
lips and shakes her head. The vendor jabs another 
which does n't quite suit either and so it goes on, till 
one is found with just the right flavor. The man who 
buys sugar cane gets a lot for his money. Fancy six to 
eight feet of long-drawn-out sweetness for five cents. 
When I see a peon trudging homeward with one across 
his shoulder, I always picture Mrs. Peon and all the 
little Peones seated in a row before their hut, com- 
placently chewing. 

The street vendor's cry is as different from that of 
Mexico City as though it were of another country. You 
miss the monotonous yet musical chant of the Indian 
women that we hear in Mexico, especially those that sell 
the little reed birds whose name is something like 
chichkuilote. Here, while everything imaginable is 
hawked through the streets, the vendors are nearly al- 
ways men. The ice-cream man is first on the scene and 



i8o THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

last to retire. He appears often at seven o'clock in the 
morning, with a tall wooden pail balanced on his head, 
and stopping in the middle of the street roars, " Helados 
por un centavo ! " (Ices for one cent). He then enumer- 
ates the various flavors. His voice is harsh and gut- 
tural, as are those of all his class, and you hear him on 
his rounds till late at night. The man with baked 
caniotes carries them on his head in an oblong wooden 
tray; and I saw fine fresh fish from Chapala sold in 
the same manner. At night, the tamale men are out and 
one occasionally hears a woman's voice. 

English is decidedly in vogue. Many speak it readily 
and you constantly hear, " All right ! " " How do you 
do ? " " Good-by ! " etc. It is amazing how the Mexi- 
cans acquire our language and employ it with compara- 
tive ease, without leaving their own country, when so 
many foreigners live in Mexico for years and never get 
beyond the " present indicative " verbally. 

Guadalajara is the home of the charro horseman, but 
even there he is becoming infrequent. When in evidence, 
he wears his attractive costume with peculiar grace, as 
though to the manner born. Although many of the suits 
are richly ornamented, all have a certain distinctive air 
as though made for service. Some are of brown or gray 
cloth, with nothing to mark them save the short jacket 
and tight-fitting trousers. The young men afifect se- 
verely plain riding suits as a foil for their richly 
mounted saddles and trappings. One fine-looking fel- 
low was dressed entirely in black without so much as 
a silver button. His fiery little Arab was coal-black. 
But the saddle was the most superb thing I had seen, 
with dazzling silver decoration and heavy box-stirrup, 
apparently of solid silver. Add to this a gorgeous, rain- 
bow-hued zarape, tightly rolled at the back of the saddle. 



i 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO i8i 

and you have a very splendid figure. Among the many 
picturesque sights of this picture-country, the charro 
horseman shines preeminent. In my own httle collection 
of the mind's eye, one of the choicest bits has for one 
figure a handsome young charro, with all the attendant 
bravery the name suggests. And the other is a girl with 
wonderful dark eyes, and a classic profile, half-hidden 
in the folds of a black shawl. 

A delightful part of Mexico is the suddenness with 
which fiestas drop down on you. I say " drop down " 
advisedly. A fiesta once dropped down on me and 
nearly extinguished me. It began on Friday and lasted 
over until Monday. I had not the faintest premonition 
that this fiesta was coming. On Thursday, I had wasted 
all my substance on sundry antiquities which a design- 
ing person brought me : idols, swords and the like. 
Friday morning, at earliest banking hours, I sallied forth 
to put myself in funds. The bank was closed till Mon- 
day. I had the munificent sum of thirty-five cents in 
my pocket, and as my only available friend at that time 
happened to be one who had frequently expressed his 
aversion to borrowing and being borrowed of, I passed 
three awful days. I determined not to expend one 
single centavo needlessly, and it was nothing short of 
tragedy to see those thirty-five constituents of a for- 
lorn hope slowly but surely fading away. If you want 
to know what it really is to be " out in this cold world," 
try living three days on thirty-five cents. You can get 
the feeling even in Mexico. Of course I might have 
pawned my purchases, but it never occurred to me I had 
an " uncle " in Mexico. 

A fiesta dropped down just as unexpectedly while I was 
in Guadalajara but luckily I had more than thirty-five 
cents in the pocket. I first realized the season, when I 



i82 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

found the portales crowded, and the little notion stands 
converted into confectioners' shops, with every sort of 
symbol displayed in sugar. 

After all, the distinguishing traits of Mexico's various 
cities and their peoples are in outward and really unim- 
portant details. The same unwritten laws govern 
society in all parts alike. It is an odd fact that many 
rules of etiquette in the neighbor-republics are diamet- 
rically opposite ; and I believe few of us, either Mex- 
icans or Americans, realize this until one visits the 
country of the other. In the north a family who may be 
newcomers in a city or locality, wait to receive the 
visits of those who care to know them. In Mexico, 
they must at once send " at home " cards to all whom 
they care to know. It would be the greatest temerity, 
on the part of a northern man, to take the initiative in 
saluting a lady, with whom he had slight acquaintance. 
Here it is the very thing he must do. Nor is this all. 
A stranger in a Mexican city must bow first on meeting 
each and every gentleman to whom he has been pre- 
sented; and if he would avoid breaches of etiquette, he 
must be literally lynx-eyed ; for his new acquaintances 
will make little or no sign of recognition. They regard 
him with their usual well-bred composure ; it remains for 
him to do the rest. I realized all this once while stroll- 
ing with some acquaintances on a much-frequented 
promenade. The place was crowded and the light was 
that trying mixture of twilight and electricity, broken by 
patches of absolute darkness. It dawned upon me that I 
was in a delicate position. People I had met but once 
would not bow to me first nor could I recognize them in 
that light! Ladies especially look so differently at dif- 
ferent times, owing to a change in costume. I wondered 
which was worse, to bow to people I did n't know or to 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 183 

fail to bow to those I did. The realization that I had 
perhaps been guilty of many omissions was annoying, 
and I begged my companion to sit down for a while, feel- 
ing that safety lay in inaction. But there was one girl 
who felt sorry for the gringo. Anyway she bowed, with 
a dignified yet gracious bend of the head and that bow 
more than atoned for all. 

One more episode that is too good to be lost. I went 
into a shop one day and was served by the owner in 
person, a comely dame, " fat, fair and forty." After a 
few trivial remarks regarding the article I was buying, 
she proceeded to subject me to a rigid and searching 
cross-examination. Was I French, German or English 
and how long had I been in the country? Had I come 
for business or pleasure and when was I going home? 
Was I married or single? Had I left a novia (sweet- 
heart) in Mexico City? Ah ha! it was plain that I had 
and that I was buying a gift to send to her ! This I 
stoutly denied and said that on the contrary I was in 
search of a novia, at the same time casting ardent glances 
at my fair inquisitor. I might as well have languished 
at a stone image. Her curiosity was wholly impersonal 
and disinterested. She wanted to know because she 
wanted to know, and having satisfied herself, she took my 
money and said, " que le vaya Vd bien! " (May you go 
well!) as unfeelingly as though she had not just received 
the sacred confidences of my inmost soul. 



CHAPTER VII 

Visit to Lake Chapala: A Race for Dinner: A Pleasant Swim- 
ming Pool : Indian Fishermen : " El Presidio " : A Ride on a 
Mexican Coach : Trite Truths About Silao : Sights Worth 
Seeing in Guanajuato : Savage Dogs : A Method of Warfare : 
The Cross on the Mountain : A Man's a Man for a' That. 

I REMAINED for nearly a month m Guadalajara, 
and the longer I stayed the easier it became to 
stay on. It is a city of infinite charm ; its life is 
modern yet leisurely; its people are cultured, vivacious, 
gay even, as compared with those in some of the more 
conservative cities, yet preserving always the poise and 
composure that are national characteristics. My fellow- 
boarders in Mexico City had given me letters of intro- 
duction to relatives and friends in Guadalajara, and these 
had been a passport to a delightful circle. I was wel- 
comed with frank kindness into the homes of my friends, 
where in some instances I was addressed by my Christian 
name, this being the most flattering sign of favor in a 
Mexican home. I had long adopted the mode of ad- 
dressing my female friends by their Christian names, it 
being the social custom for gentlemen to so address the 
ladies of their acquaintance, whether elderly or yotmg. 
But it was in Guadalajara this was first reciprocated, and 
hearing my name thus for the first time in many months 
I experienced a thrill of pleasure, for I knew it was a trib- 
ute to my friendship with a son or a brother. 

A delightful feature of social life in Guadalajara 
were the afternoons at the home and studios of the 



. THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 185 

Mexican painter, Felix Bernardelli, where women and 
men of artistic, literary and musical pursuits met for 
music, poetry and gossip. There were many pleasant 
suppers and musical evenings at the homes of friends, 
and again I felt the elusive yet dominating thrall that is 
Mexico's, and beneath whose sway weeks glide into 
months and easily into years. The traveler however feels 
it a duty to travel; yet in leaving Guadalajara, I was dis- 
consolate. Even now, at thought of this lovely city, 
the desire arises to apostrophize her ; yet I can think 
of nothing that is worthy save that name of praise 
and endearment, — " Guadalajara, Pearl of the 
West ! " 

My acquaintances had besought me not to leave the 
State of Jalisco without paying a visit to Lake Chapala, 
which lies on the boundary adjacent to Michoacan, and 
is the favorite watering-place of all that region. I ac- 
cordingly set out for Atequiza, which is the railway 
station nearest the lake. At Atequiza, which is reached 
in an hour, you have your choice of a saddle horse or a 
seat in the stage. The owner of the horses told me he 
could give me one with a pace like " the rocking of a 
canoe on the lake." I am convinced now that he re- 
ferred to the lake on a squally day, but in my guilelessness 
I thought he meant when it was pacific. The stage- 
driver declared that while he had to wait for the Irapuato 
train, he could give the saddle horse an hour's start and 
then beat it into Chapala. This prospect of a race de- 
cided me in favor of the saddle horse. A gaunt looking 
cahallo was led forth, and my luggage was loaded on to a 
second with little black-eyed Santiago up behind as 
mozo and guide. Santiago said he was eleven years old, 
but he afterwards remembered that he was only " walking 
toward nine." He said one forgets now and again, and 



i86 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

I admitted this was true especially when one has reached 
his mature age. I told Santiago that if we beat the stage 
there was a real in it for him, and he thereupon informed 
me that there was a fine spur in one of the saddle-bags. 
There are about a dozen gates to be opened on the road 
to Chapala, at the rate of a centavo a gate, which is cheap 
as gates go. They separate the various ranchos. All 
would have been well, if in crossing one of these ranchos 
I had not met the head vaquero (herdsman). He was an 
interesting gentleman in silver-trimmed, black trousers, 
slit up the side, high russet boots and a magnificent som- 
brero. He opened conversation by complimenting my 
horse. I said yes, he was " good food for buzzards." I 
then praised his horse, which was really a fine one. We 
were jogging along conversing when suddenly I heard 
yelling in the rear, and there right upon us was the stage. 
The driver was bawling, " Andale ! " and the peon beside 
him was throwing rocks at the eight little mules, as they 
tore along. The driver shouted, " Adios " and I dug my 
spurs into that wretched caballo feeling that I was 
beaten. The caballo saw things in another light. He 
could loaf so long as no one tried to pass him ; but the 
thought of taking dust from eight plebeian mules was 
more than his proud Arab spirit could endure. He began 
to forge ahead with the speed of a locomotive, and the 
coach was left far in the rear where it belonged. The 
caballo had decided to let me see what he could do and 
he kept it up. In a jiffy we reached the top of the hill. 
Before us lay the lake, with the mountains beyond and 
the little town of Chapala lying close to the margin. It 
made me think of Lake Patzcuaro ; but you are beside the 
latter before you know it, traveling by rail, while Chapala 
you see from afar and have all the delights of anticipation 
in approaching it. So we galloped down to the lake 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 187 

with the fresh wind in our faces, and I was on my way 
to dinner when that boastful cochero drew up his eight- 
mule team before the hotel. 

That the manager of the Hotel Arzapalo was a man of 
taste, I knew when I saw the hotel, with its clambering 
rose-vines, its well-kept gardens and the little pier run- 
ning out into the lake, with comfortable benches at either 
side. When he assigned me to a room, with a view of 
mountain and lake combined, I was doubly sure. The 
memories of my ride, together with a bountiful dinner, 
made me content to loaf the rest of the afternoon ; but 
towards evening I started in search of the warm mineral 
baths, for which the place is noted. A gentleman who 
knows Chapala, had said to me, " Don't go to the fine- 
looking bath-house with the ' Baiio ' sign ; follow the same 
street till you come to some old buildings and then ask 
for the tanque." So I walked by the fine-looking baiios 
and in an old orange orchard, I found the great swimming 
tank. It must be sixty feet long by twenty wide, and the 
bottom slopes so that at one end it is over a man's head. 
It is surrounded by a high wall and the palms and orange 
trees grow close up to it. The water is a trifle more than 
blood-warm, so that you feel an almost imperceptible ac- 
cession of warmth in stepping into it. It is the kind 
of a bath that you leave reluctantly and then feel tempted 
to return to. The springs at Cuautla, Morelos, are 
nearly like these in temperature. 

When I came out I asked the duena to sell me some 
oranges ; and she sent a boy to pick them — three big, 
luscious ones for two cents. An Indian was launching 
his canoe, and I asked him to take me in ; he ran and got 
a little rush-bottom chair which he put in the stern, and we 
paddled away. There was the last flush of crimson and 
purple in the west and a crescent moon overhead ; and I 



i88 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

could hear the voices of the Indian boatmen, as they 
rowed out through the dusk to the fishing grounds. 

While the lake is often perfectly still during the after- 
noon, a breeze comes after sunset and soon little waves 
are running up on the beach. The moon makes a silver 
track across the water; you hear a soft lapping along 
the shore, and the scent of flowers pervades the shaded 
balcony of the hotel. The despondent traveler, who has 
been seeing the country by day and waging fierce wars 
by night, in hotels where he pays for a bed and then has 
to fight to hold it, will hail the Arzapalo as a haven of 
rest. The beds and bed-linen are spotlessly clean and one 
lies down with no misgivings as to the manner of his 
awakening. I could tell gruesome tales of nights spent 
in Mexican hotels, but I won't. Perhaps the reader is 
tender-hearted ; and for me, it would only open old 
wounds anew. The Arzapalo has some fifty rooms, 
a large sala and dining-room overlooking the lake, and is 
provided with a bar and billiard table. The cooking is 
excellent and the bread is all made in the house. The 
hotel is situated in what is, beyond doubt, one of the 
loveliest and most healthful spots in all Mexico. Good 
hotels are a crying want in the republic, and when I en- 
counter one I sing its praises. 

Circumstances over which I had no control forced me 
to leave Chapala. My trunk ran amuck. I found it at 
Silao, but I lost — Chapala. I left it when my love was at 
its height. It was morning on the lake. The mists were 
hanging on the mountain tops, the breeze was ruffling the 
surface of the water, and the palms and orange trees 
shone emerald-green in the sunlight. I rode on top of the 
coach and as we approached the summit of the divide, 
we could see a good part of the length of the lake, some 
thirty leagues in all. There was the little island called 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 189 

" El Presidio " where the last of the Chapaltecos, about 
fifty warriors, made their final stand against two thousand 
Spanish troops ; and were only dislodged by bullets and 
starvation. There is a plan on foot in Jalisco, to erect a 
suitable monument on the island in honor of these heroic 
men, who fought to the end for the freedom of their peo- 
ple. I was not familiar with this tragic episode and the 
gentleman beside me told it dramatically. I looked again 
and again at the little island, trying to fancy the scene 
during the siege. Just then we reached the summit. 
There was a last glimpse of a great stretch of shining 
water, and the next minute we had crossed and were 
bowling down the other side to Atequiza. 

If you have never ridden on a Mexican coach, you 
have still a new sensation in store. The Chapala coach 
has a cushion on top and if you are fortunate in sharing 
this seat, you ride muy a gusto, seeing the country and 
the manner of manipulating an eight-mule-team at the 
same time. There are two about the size of rabbits on the 
lead, a string of four in the middle, and two larger ones 
on the wheel. The driver has a whip, with a lash long 
enough to reach the leaders. His assistant has another 
shorter one, but his chief persuaders are rocks. The 
assistant earns fifty cents a day and free insurance against 
dyspepsia. He alights at the base of every hill and fills 
his sombrero full of rocks on the way up. He then shies 
several boulders big enough to dislocate a hip at the 
leaders ; and when the whole team are in full gallop, he 
swings himself on to the box in some miraculous way — I 
think he stands on the hub. He could never do it if 
he wore shoes. When they change mules, he leads the 
discarded team up and down to cool them off; while the 
driver takes the new ones and tangles them up, so you 
can't tell where wheelers end and leaders begin. At 



I90 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

last they are off again with a whoop and a yell. People 
talk of Mexico as slow, but the word can never be ap- 
plied either to stage coaches or street cars, when they 
once get started. 

Some American friends had written me from Guana- 
juato, advising me to spend a day in Silao. They said 
I would not regret it, and I decided reluctantly to act on 
the suggestion. Somehow Silao never sounded interesting 
and my one impression has always centered around a 
very good supper that I had with the Howards when we 
separated there, they going to Guanajuato, which they 
always declared the most picturesque place in the republic. 
When we reached Silao, whom should I find on the 
Guanajuato train but the very people who had advised 
a day in Silao. " Hurry up ! " they said, " get your 
luggage and come right along with us ! " 

"But what about Silao?" 

" Oh, never mind, we'll tell you about Silao ! " they 
answered. 

What is sight-seeing compared with good-fellowship? 
Inside of five minutes, with the assistance of friends and 
cargadores I was loaded bag and baggage on the train for 
Guanajuato. 

I made the following record in my notebook: — 
" Silao is where you leave the Mexican Central for 
Guanajuato and get good things to eat at the station. 

" The officials there are obliging and the baggage-mas- 
ter does all in his power to assist tourists who are trying 
to do impossible things in the way of train-connections. 

" Silao is reputed to have the best climate in the repub- 
lic; and there are hot mineral baths, some ten miles 
from the station, which are unexcelled for rheumatism. 

" Among the industries, is the manufacture of thread 
for rebozos. 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 193 

" The elevation is 6,000 feet. Population about 
15.000. " 

It takes an hour to reach Guanajuato, first in the little 
train and then in the street car. When we arrived a 
band was playing on the plaza and the square looked 
bright and animated, with the seiiores promenading in 
the little park and the peones in the middle of the street. 
We had supper in a restaurant, where we were served by 
a waiter who moved faster than any mozo I have ever 
seen in Mexico. My friend told me he acquired this 
habit of velocity in the ring at the Sunday gallos 
(cock-fights). When I went to my room, there was a' 
girl standing in the balcony of the house opposite. She 
looked very interesting in the moonlight as she talked 
across the narrow street to some one in the hotel, 
evidently a suitor. 

The following afternoon my friends invited me to ac- 
company them to their hacienda, which was in the moun- 
tains, southeast of the city. The views from the summit 
were superb, with the city lying at the bottom of the 
valley, and the haciendas and churches of Valenciana and 
Los Reyes away off on the mountain side, and just a 
glimpse of La Luz which lies beyond the summit. The 
trails are wide enough for two horses to go abreast, and 
their stone pavements, demolished in places, tell the 
story of an old and immensely wealthy mining section, 
where thousands of mules were constantly coming and 
going, laden with provisions and treasure. Like all 
mountain trails, these are marked at intervals by crosses. 
At one point, in a terrible fight between two peones, the 
head of one was completely severed by a machete, and 
rolled into the canon below. The cross was erected at the 
spot where the body was found. Not long ago a burro, 
laden with water jars, went over a cliff, something like 



194 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

three hundred feet high, and escaped with the loss of two 
front teeth and his cargo. On the summit are two im- 
mense balance-rocks, side by side, known as " the coma- 
dres." It seems two Indian comadres quarreled there 
once upon a time, and were turned into stone. They 
stand to this day, a warning to all passers-by to keep their 
temper, at least till they get over the ridge. At sunset 
we met the Indians, men and women, tramping over the 
mountains to their homes in Guanajuato. They work in 
the mines and the women earn from four to five reales a 
day, breaking and sorting the ore. 

I have visited many mining haciendas in Mexico. At 
some there are women-folk and at others not. In the 
living rooms of the latter you see a pile of boots in one 
corner, a tangle of coats and overalls in another, and 
smaller articles of wearing apparel strewn broadcast. 
Everything is hung up on the floor. Now in the first 
named, it is quite a different matter. There are rows of 
nails, with the clothing hung up in order ; and there are 
cabinets, made of empty candle-boxes nailed on the wall, 
and pictures and photographs. The hacienda I visited 
was of this kind. I slept in a cozy little room and there 
were curtains at the windows, a box-washstand with 
water-bottle and glass, and a fur rug. The moral for 
mining men is obvious. 

When we started for Guanajuato the next morning it 
was crisp and cool. The men and women were already 
well up the mountain, on their way to the mines. They 
must have started before sunrise. Our horses were in 
high spirits and we had to curb them from racing down 
the steep trail. On arriving I took leave of my friends, 
and set out to explore Guanajuato, which I long had 
wished to know. 

Of all the quaint, picturesque old cities I have seen in 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 195 

the republic, Guanajuato is the quaintest and most pic- 
turesque. It is built in a winding cafion and it not only 
occupies the bottom, but climbs up the sides and spreads 
over the foothills. At the sides the hills rise so abruptly, 
that the summit, which is higher than the church towers, 
seems almost within a stone's throw. When the first 
charm of the place has worn off, there is a shut-in feel- 
ing and one longs for the sight of a distant horizon. 
To say the streets are narrow does n't express it. If 
you start from your hotel for the post-office, your course 
is a veritable zigzag: perhaps you find the post or per- 
haps you bring up again in front of the hotel, in which 
case you have only to try it over. The third time seldom 
fails. Wherever you go there is always the feeling that 
you are in a maze, and the same uncertainty as to where 
you are coming out. The streets are well-paved but very 
narrow and some of the sidewalks will not allow two 
abreast. 

There are several trails leading into the mountains, 
and innumerable footpaths like stairs, cut in the solid 
rock. I followed a street crossing the city and found 
myself up against the steep side of the cafion, with noth- 
ing to do but climb for it. The stairs terminated in a 
narrow lane, between adobe walls and cactus hedges, 
which ended on the ridge. The lane was full of wolfish- 
looking dogs which darted out at unexpected places with 
teeth and hair bristling alike ; but I have learned a thing 
or two about Mexican dogs. You have only to stoop 
as though picking up a rock and the most savage will 
turn tail or at least keep at a safe distance. A small 
Indian boy once put me up to this dodge. I was passing 
a rancho on horseback when a gaunt hound sprang out 
and attacked me like a fury : I think she had puppies. 
I did n't want to shoot her, for more reasons than one, 



196 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

so I took to flight but the brute kept up with me and 
I expected every second to feel her fangs in the calf of 
my leg. I finally left her behind and farther on en- 
countered a little peon boy jogging along peacefully on 
his burro, his plump, bare legs offering an apparently 
tempting morsel. They were quite intact however, and 
I asked him how he managed it. " I got down and 
grabbed a rock," he replied. 

One afternoon about three o'clock, I set out for the 
white cross which tops the highest peak back of the city. 
It looked an hour's climb at most. At sunset I was so 
far above the town it looked like a toy village lying at the 
bottom of the caiion, but the cross was still a long way 
off. I did n't care to make the descent in the dark so 
I gave it up, consoling myself with that beguiling word 
" manana." This becomes quite easy after you have 
lived in the country a while. As I returned, I saw be- 
low me on the trail what I took for a scarecrow in peones' 
clothing with a large white cloth attached and fluttering 
in the wind. I watched it a long time but it remained 
motionless ; and I was surprised on coming near to find it 
was a live peon who had washed his handkerchief and 
was holding it in the wind to dry. How these people 
can keep so still is a mystery but they seem to find it 
easy enough. Morning or night is the same to them. 
How easy it is for a peon to get up in the morning ! He 
picks up his bed which consists of a red blanket, swings 
it lightly about him, leans up against a wall, lights a 
cigarro and gazes complacently at the busy world. 

Guanajuato's population is rated at from forty to fifty 
thousand. Its elevation is 6,800 feet. At the upper end 
of the city there are some beautiful residences and the 
city park adjoining la Presa is one of the best I have 
seen. The fine building-stone is quarried just back of 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 197 

the city and is charming in color. Three shades were 
employed in the fagade of the Juarez theater — gray, rose 
and a delicate green. In combination with the bronze 
ornament and figures, the effect is very pleasing. I was 
prepared to be disappointed in the theater but it is a 
superb edifice and its lines are restful to the eye. I 
never tire of looking at the exterior. Within all is pro- 
fusion and lavishness of decoration. Every inch of wall 
space and ceiling is covered with raised ornament, 
Oriental in design and gorgeous in color. When the crim- 
son velvet hangings, with their elaborate gold em- 
broideries are in place, the effect is magnificent. The im- 
mense stage is provided with complete sets of every sort 
of scenery : there are winter and summer scenes, groves, 
lakes and Louis seize drawing-rooms. So well planned 
is the theater that street cars, laden with the company's 
trunks, etc., drive directly beneath the stage before un- 
loading. The large foyer or, better, the drawing-room, 
is decorated in crimson, with a plain red carpet, red 
velvet hangings and furniture done in the same material, 
embroidered in real gold and with a heavy gold-bullion 
fringe. The appointments of this room alone are said to 
have cost thirty thousand dollars. The entire cost of the 
theater is reckoned at between seven and eight hundred 
thousand dollars. Considering its splendid construction, 
its wealth of ornament without and within, costly 
bronzes and marbles and elaborate furnishings, these fig- 
ures do not seem unreasonable. I doubt if any city in 
the world can boast a more luxurious art temple than el 
Teatro Juarez. 

An unfortunate contrast to the many attractive fea- 
tures of Guanajuato are the revolting spectacles pre- 
sented by street beggars, who greet you at every turn. 
You are conscious, while admiring the theater perhaps, 



igS THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

of some crawling object beside you, and there is a loathe- 
some creature, minus a hand, a leg or a foot, or possibly 
minus all three. The gulf separating this wretch from 
the opulence on every hand is appalling; and as I had 
come directly from Guadalajara, where such sights are 
not in evidence, I noticed it the more. How the Mex- 
icans, who are naturally a kindly people, and above all 
lovers of the beautiful, can endure such horrors in their 
streets is a mystery. The conditions and customs that 
have led up to their apparent apathy are, perhaps, too 
numerous for a stranger to understand; but I hope it 
will not be many years before the people themselves will 
realize what a detraction it is from the beauty of their 
country, and provide a remedy. 

Guanajuato impresses one as a busy place. All day 
you hear the clattering of the mule pack-trains over the 
stone pavements and every mule carries two sacks of ore. 
The sacks are usually of hide and look very durable. 
The trains are attended by more peones than I ever saw 
before ; in fact there is one to every five mules, with a 
head man on horseback bringing up the rear. 

Another extensive traffic is that of the water-carriers. 
Nearly all the drinking water is brought from springs in 
the mountains. At any hour of the day you meet the 
water men driving their burros loaded with large earthen 
jars of water. The price is three cents a jar. Peones 
also peddle drinking water about the city, carrying it in 
a sort of huge bottle made of clay. This is suspended 
from the head strap, and to fill a vessel, the vender 
merely ducks his head, and directs the stream with won- 
derful precision. 

There are plenty of tequila saloons in the town and 
one that appears to be quite popular is at the corner of 
the cemetery wall of "La Compania," under the very 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 199 

drippings of the sanctuary. The church is a massive old 
pile, always interesting but especially so at dusk, when 
the cedar trees loom, black as ink, at either side of the 
path, and the blackbirds, from all the country round, take 
up their lodging there for the night. Such a chattering 
and fluttering about as they settle themselves to their 
complete satisfaction ! I went back again, when the 
moon was shining, and imagined the cedars looked blacker 
than ever for their legion of little night visitors. The 
streets were deserted and all was perfectly still ; but sud- 
denly some rude bird jostled his neighbor who told him 
to keep quiet. He replied that he guessed he had a right 
to shift from one foot to the other if he wanted to and 
the result was a squabble. A mischievous young bird in 
one of the top boughs yelled, " Come off the roost ! " 
This roused the entire flock and in a minute they were 
all at it, chattering at the top of their lungs. It was 
funny to hear the racket gradually die away, as one by 
one they dropped off to sleep again, till at last all were 
still, save for two old lady birds who cheeped to each 
other in subdued tones, that the way some blackbirds 
carried on was a scandal and nothing less. 

La Presa, the great dam of Guanajuato, impressed me 
as a stupendous achievement in the way of construction, 
and one that is proof against any and all emergencies. 
A former one gave way and many persons were drowned 
in the flood that resulted. 

A place that I visited with more interest, was the his- 
toric Palacio de las Granaditas, which was once the store- 
house for all the grains purchased by the crown. When 
Hidalgo marched from Dolores to Guanajuato, with his 
band of insurgents, the royalists took refuge with their 
families in this palace. It was stormed and taken by 
the revolutionists and history says the place ran rivers 



200 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

of blood. When Hidalgo was finally made a prisoner at 
Chihuahua, and executed in company with his leaders, 
Allende and Jimenez, the heads were severed from the 
bodies and brought to Guanajuato, where they were sus- 
pended from the corners of the palace. The nails 
are still there and beneath them are tablets bearing the 
names of these heroes of independence. A plate near the 
entrance records the entrance of the revolutionary army 
and the capture of the palace on September 28, 1810: 
and another states that the edifice was begun in 1788 and 
completed in 1808 at a cost of $207,086.28. This minute- 
ness as to detail indicates a remarkable accuracy on the 
part of governmental bookkeepers, during the time of 
construction. 

On my last night in Guanajuato there was a special 
service in the great church of La Parroquia, and the 
place was ablaze with light and crowded to the doors. 
There was a fine orchestra and a good tenor voice and 
I stood outside a long time listening. The night was 
as bright as day and the people were flocking from all 
sides, to kneel and cross themselves before the entrance 
even if they could not find room inside. Among them 
I noticed an Indian, evidently a peon from the mines, in 
his scant cotton clothing and a ragged white zarape, 
which contrasted sharply with his dark and very re- 
markable face. He had the head of an artist, and his 
long, coal-black hair, not coarse like the average In- 
dian's, but fine as a European's, heightened the effect. 
His finely chiseled features were rather Grecian than 
otherwise, and his face, as he stood gazing into the church, 
had that singularly unimpassioned look — shall I call it 
pure? that we see in ascetics and sometimes in men who 
work hard and live frugally. At last he fell on his knees, 
crossed himself with lightning rapidity, and then rising 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 201 

and muffling his chin in his zarapc went and leaned 
against the churchyard wall, 

I was curious to know what the fiesta was and be- 
sides I wanted to talk with him, so I went up and spoke 
to him. In an instant his hat was in his hand. I said 
" Cubrase Ud! " (Cover yourself !) and we entered upon 
the natural relations of a man who wants to ask ques- 
tions, and another who is able and willing to answer 
them. He said it was the fiesta of Maria Santisima of 
Guanajuato and that it lasted nine days, during which 
all the people came to offer thanks for the kindnesses 
God had seen fit to bestow, and pray for their contin- 
uance. (Our Thanksgiving Day precisely, I thought, 
only it comes earlier and this poor fellow won't have 
either turkey or mince pie.) He worked in the mines, he 
said, and lived with his madre and little sisters, provid- 
ing the necessities for the family. No, his house was 
not very far, a little near ! making a comprehensive sweep 
with his arm, from which I understood, as well as though 
he had told me, that to reach his house he must cross and 
go far down the other side of that high mountain, that 
seemed to touch the sky. I fancied that, according to my 
standard, it might be a little far, but he appeared as un- 
concerned as though he had to go a few squares at most. 

The speech of this Indian was clear and rapid and 
showed no mean order of intelligence. He and his peo- 
ple had talked pure Castellano all their lives, he said, but 
there still remained towns somewhat retired where the 
people spoke their native dialect. " When they come 
here, with their uncouth ways, we stand and look at 
them and that is all," he added. I asked him about his 
work and if there were many accidents. He said men 
were often hurt but seldom killed. I told him of some 
of the things that happened in other countries ; but while 



202 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

he was interested, he insisted that there could be no 
caves in his mine ; the ground was too hard. Indeed this' 
is true of most Mexican mines. Then he tried to re- 
member a story his father had told him about a great 
mine once being suddenly flooded and many, many peo- 
ple drowned, more than a thousand he believed. It was 
long ago, and nothing of the sort had ever happened 
since ; but mass was still said in his barrio for the repose 
of their souls. Then saying, "Sir, I retire!" he lifted 
his hat, gave me his hand and was gone. An hour after, 
I fancied him crossing the top of the ridge in the moon- 
light; but I dare say at that moment he was curled up 
under the white zarape, in his hut at the foot of the moun- 
tain, the hut that sheltered his mother and little sisters. 
Only a peon ! " But for a' that, — an' for a' that, — a 
man 's a man for a' that." 



CHAPTER VIII 

Busy Leon: Pleasant Visit at the Home of Don Juan: Golden 
Days in Lagos : Aguascalientes the Land of Hot Waters, 
Genial Climate and Warm Hearts : Its Foreign Colony : 
Baths al Freseo : " Mochte " : Barber's Versatility : An An- 
tique Zarape : Puebla the City of Angels : Its Cathedral : 
Its Monuments: Birthday of Uncle Sam: Difficulties of 
English : Abundio. 

AS the time for my visit to my friend Don Juan, 
who resided in Lagos, was drawing near, and 
I wished to spend a few hours in Leon, en 
route, I now returned to Silao, where I took the main 
line for Leon, arriving there the same afternoon. After 
securing lodgings at the hotel I went to call upon a friend 
I had made in Mexico City, who was one of Leon's 
leading lawyers. As my stay must necessarily be brief, 
and as he was occupied at the time of my arrival, he in- 
troduced me to a young nephew, who kindly offered 
to go about with me. 

Leon is destined to become a large manufacturing 
city. My friend the lawyer once said, " We are not rich 
in Leon but we are all workers ! " I saw few signs of 
extreme poverty, at least not the kind that begs ; and 
judging from the fine residences, there must be plenty of 
wealth, but it is unostentatious wealth. There is an 
excellent street-car service in Leon, and its citizens seem 
to prefer this means of getting about to driving. I was 
impressed by the air of industry. It was late in the 
afternoon and the streets were full of people, carrying 

203 



204 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

their work to turn it in at the shops. There were men 
with huge bundles of rebozos on their backs and women 
with their arms full of shoes. Until recently, all the 
manufacturing had been given out as piece work and 
done by the people in their homes, the work being paid 
for on delivery. We visited the tanning establishment 
of La Hormiga (The Ant), whose monthly output was 
three thousand hides and six thousand skins. The other 
large factories were for hosiery, zarapes and hats, re- 
spectively. Leon has a large brickyard and there are 
extensive quarries near, which yield a fine stone for 
building and a beautiful quartz-like rock, almost a marble. 
There is an abundant water supply, derived from a large 
reservoir and also from artificial wells in the center of 
the city. The theater is one of the best I have seen 
and quite appropriate for a city of Leon's size. It is 
light and roomy, with wide aisles, and fitted with com- 
fortable cane opera-chairs. 

I learned of a novel method of " playing bear " (love- 
making) while in this progressive city. The lover 
boards a street car in the cool of the afternoon, making 
the circuit repeatedly, during which he passes his lady's 
dwelling. This way of doing it has distinct advantages. 
There is a " now you see him, now you don't " feature 
that must add to the zest of the lady's enjoyment, while 
the " bear " has the chance to see all the other girls. 

The derivation of the phrase " playing bear " is amus- 
ing. The lover begins his attentions by following, at 
a discreet distance, the lady of his adoration, or by 
standing for hours before her dwelling. If his preten- 
sions meet with favor he presents himself daily before 
her home; the regularity and duration of his vigil be- 
ing accepted as an indication of his ardor and con- 
stancy. It may be months before he receives so much 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 205 

as a word from the lady's lips, or in writing. Mean- 
time his prolonged and patient waiting earns for him 
the appellation of " bear." 

The evening I spent at the home of my lawyer-friend 
where I heard some of the musicians of the younger 
set and, as in all the cities I visited, their selections 
were good and remarkably well rendered. There were 
some beautiful voices and the playing was notably fine. 
I have concluded that Mexico's best music is confined 
to the homes or to small and select recitals. As my 
train left at an early hour, I said good-by to my host, 
not expecting to see him again, but he was at the train 
the following morning, riding a superb horse; out for 
a gallop before breakfast, he said. 

I arrived at Lagos in the evening. True to his promise 
Don Juan met me at the station and after a short drive, 
we alighted before an open portal, and I saw the 
patio, with the lights shining on a thicket of roses 
and turning the climbing bougainvillaea into masses of 
pink flame, and heard my friend saying, " This is your 
house ! " I shall not attempt to write of the manifold 
kindnesses and sweet attentions accorded the visitor in 
a Mexican home. Friendship with one member of the 
household means friendship with all, entailing the inter- 
change of Christian names and all the kindly relations 
which that implies. A delightful compliment is paid a 
guest in dispensing with much of the accustomed cere- 
mony. '' Do what pleases you ! " is the assurance he 
receives. When the hour came for retiring and the 
daughter of the house, a lovely little senorita of fifteen 
summers, gave me her hand and said with charming 
friendliness, " lYou know you are in your own house ! " 
I vowed inwardly I had never heard a prettier or more 
gracious flattery. 



2o6 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

Lagos possesses an ancient and luxurious swimming- 
bath, hidden away in an old garden, amid a tangle of 
orange and rose trees. The repository of the huge, 
rusty key, that opens the battered portals leading to 
the garden, is known only to a few. Don Juan was in 
the circle, however, and we sought the garden and were 
splashing in the pool, when the sun first struck the water. 
The oranges were hanging thick overhead and the 
smell of roses was in the air. Then we returned to the 
house for almuerzo. My friend's mother presided but 
took nothing herself. She had been to early service 
while the stars were still out, and had desayuno before 
we even awoke. Almuerzo is really an elaborate break- 
fast. There was a profusion of everything and much 
that was quite new to me. One thing I liked very much 
was a camote, deliciously prepared and served with thick 
cream. Then there were the best little tortillas, that 
kept coming on piping hot and were eaten with another 
cream, something like cheese. There is one woman in 
every well-organized kitchen who is called the tortil- 
lera, and whose business it is to provide these small, 
snowy, delectable wafers. I had never tasted such 
chocolate before. It was not so thick as they make it 
in Mexico, and far more delicious in flavor. Another 
drink, that I had for the first time in Lagos, was 
colonche. It is the juice of a special kind of cactus 
fruit, slightly fermented. My friends were lamenting 
that there was none of this fruit to be had, as colonche 
is a delicacy and they were anxious I should try it. 
They finally gave it up as hopeless, and naturally I was 
consumed with a thirst for colonche which was unex- 
pectedly gratified. I had met once in MexicO' City a little 
maiden-lady with silvery hair and a face like a cameo, 
who played the guitar delightfully. She lived in Lagos. 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 207 

How she learned of my thirst is a mystery, but that 
day at dinner there was a large decanter of colonche, 
sent with her compliments. It looks much like currant 
wine and is the most delicious refreshment I have ever 
taken in Mexico. If the pulque, which Xochitl presented 
to old king Tecpancaltzin, impressed him as favorably, 
I don't blame him for adopting it as his favorite tipple. 

Lagos has an abundance of crystal-clear water. It 
lies in the center of a level plain which once held count- 
less lakes. Many have disappeared, but the whole ter- 
ritory seems underflowed by water and a well of a 
hundred feet invariably encounters it. There are some 
remarkable artificial wells quite near the city, in a tract 
that was once the bed of a lake. The soil, which carries 
a great deal of salt, produces excellent alfalfa and a thick, 
wiry grass which cattle like. At intervals are seen 
clumps of low bushes, called jara and a well, sunk at 
any of these points, results in a vigorous, unfailing 
flow of warm water. The wells are made by sinking 
an iron tube about five inches in diameter the required 
depth. There are some ten or eleven in all, less than a 
hundred feet deep, at a cost not exceeding eighty dollars 
each. The water registers about sixty-six Fahrenheit 
and is very soft and pleasant in taste. The ground 
throughout this section is fertile, and the people will 
tell you that if you break off a twig and put it in the 
earth it will grow. The trees are chiefly French elms, 
pepper trees and eucalyptus. 

The farther north I traveled, the more freedom I 
observed in the intercourse of the young people, espe- 
cially in the smaller cities, where the leading families 
are connected by long friendships and frequently by 
marriage. I saw this illustrated in Lagos. There were 
more pretty girls there proportionately than in any other 



2o8 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

place I had visited, and they flocked together like a big 
family of sisters. Every evening a bevy of senoritas, ac- 
companied by a chaperon and attended by their youthful 
admirers, assembled in the moonlit corridor for an im- 
promptu musical. I never wearied of the quaint folk 
songs and danzas, sung by the fresh young voices to 
guitar and mandolin accompaniment. 

I had now been away from Mexico City considerably 
over a month, and was beginning to long for the 
metropolis. I had still to .visit the city of Aguascalientes, 
where I also had friends, and while I anticipated the 
pleasure of meeting them and seeing the city, my de- 
sire was strong to be in Mexico City, the center of life 
and activity in the republic. After a week of what I 
have always remembered as golden days in the home of 
Don Juan, I took leave of his gentle mother, and all that 
radiant circle of youthful dons and lovely senoritas, and 
went on to the city of Aguascalientes or Hot Waters. 

A gentleman, who first visited Aguascalientes long 
before the day of railroads, had been telling me of his 
early experiences in that delightful old town, of his 
cordial reception at the hands of its people, the grand 
entertainments to which he was bidden at adjoining 
haciendas, and the lavish hospitality of his Mexican 
hosts. His reminiscences recalled the letters of Mme. 
Calderon de la Barca, who wrote so delightfully of her 
life in Mexico in the early '40's. Aguascalientes is still 
cordial to the stranger, but her cordiality is of a more 
discreet and thoughtful kind than it was in the halcyon 
days, when the Mexican don assumed that every traveler- 
guest was a gentleman and treated him accordingly. In 
Mexico to-day, as in other lands, suitable introductions 
alone assure an entrance into Mexican homes. 

The foreign colony of Aguascalientes is very large 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 211 

and English is generally spoken by foreigners and Mex- 
icans alike. I had the fortune to be put up at the Casino 
where I found pleasant reading- and writing-roooms, 
card-rooms, billiard and pool, excellent baths and a cafe. 
There were some hundred members in the club, one-third 
of whom were foreigners. That night my Mexican 
friends took me to visit some English friends of theirs, 
whom they described as muy simpaticos (very agree- 
able). These young men, who lived in bachelors' apart- 
ments, had one room devoted to athletic sports; and we 
found several fellows, gloves on, pummeling each other 
for dear life. After our arrival, there was a round be- 
tween two young Mexicans, and then one of our hosts 
put on the gloves with a Mexican. Fencing was also 
on the cards, although there was none on this occasion. 
We adjourned to the sala for music and refreshments, 
and I took occasion to make some inquiries regarding 
the nationalities of the different gentlemen in the com- 
pany. The following countries were represented in ad- 
dition to Mexico: England, France, Germany, Canada 
and the United States. 

I was convinced of the sincerity of the friendship 
between these young Mexicans and their friends, by an 
amusing conversation that passed between two of their 
number. One of the young dons, it seemed, was some- 
what a Lothario', preferring to flit from flower to 
flower, or rather from window to window, instead of 
confining his amorous glances always to the same halcon. 
One of his Northern friends, a Canadian, twitted him 
on his inconstancy and then got ofif something like the 
following, to the great delight of the Mexicans. " If 
I had a no via (sweetheart), how constant I would be! 
Always sighing, every night, beneath her window ! " 

" Why have n't you one ? " inquired the Mexican, 



212 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

" Because I don't know how to ' play bear,' " replied 
his n^iend sadly. 

" I will teach you, I will teach you ! " said the young 
Mexican so earnestly, the genuineness of his offer was 
not to be doubted. Nor could any better proof be shown 
of disinterested friendship, than the willingness to in- 
itiate a foreigner into the methods of courtship em- 
ployed in Mexico. 

The warm baths, in which the place abounds, are 
near the station, although the most popular ones are 
at the end of the Alameda. I was glad to see free baths 
for both men and women and they seemed to be well 
patronized; but the Indians are strange creatures. 
Within a hundred yards of the depot and close to the 
tracks, were long, narrow ditches filled with this same 
warm water. Here scores of women and girls were 
bathing; there must have been between sixty and eighty 
in all, splashing and ducking in the muddy water, while 
the children tumbled about in shallow puddles caused by 
the overflow. All seemed utterly unconscious and I pre- 
sume they liked it better than being shut inside four 
walls. Their clothing had been washed and spread on 
the grass to dry, and when an Indian woman dresses 
she does it so deftly, there is nothing immodest about it. 

In every locality the people have some dish which is 
peculiarly their own. From the time I arrived in 
Queretaro I saw camotes in abundance, and wished more 
than once the hotels would serve them, instead of their 
incessant meat courses. They are really a sweet potato, 
and if well cooked, delicious. The camote dulce or 
preserve of Puebla is famous, and may be bought at the 
capital, but I never saw them there in any other form. 
Here the women boil the potatoes and mash them up 
in a small wooden bowl, adding milk to suit the taste of 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 213 

the customer. I had boiled camotes with cream, when 
I was in Lagos, and hked them immensely. In Uruapan, 
the colored servant of a Southern gentleman recognized 
their kinship to the sweet potato, and fried them 
deliciously. At the hotel in Aguas, the Chinese cook 
prepared them the same way; and I was sad at the 
thought of all the time I had spent in Mexico without 
them. 

I must not fail to speak of " Mochte." The pro- 
prietor calling him " Moctecuhzoma," but I compromised 
with " Mochte." Mochte was the small, fat Indian boy 
who made rny bed, tucking the covers in religiously at 
the head and leaving them loose at the foot. Perhaps 
he thought I slept wrong-end-to: or more likely as- 
sumed that my feet were as indifferent to cold as his 
own, and that, like him, I wanted to be well muffled 
up about the head. Mochte had a thick, stubby foot, 
with toes that looked as though they could perform the 
function of fingers if necessary. 

Why the barbers of Aguascalientes charge just half 
what they do in other places is a mystery, but such is 
the case. I was riding with my friend Don Alberto 
through one of the outer barrios and in passing a small 
barber-shop he said, " The barber-shops here charge 
three cents and do all this: they cut your hair, shave 
you, extract a tooth and apply leeches." I accepted this 
as a jest, but when I later patronized the best hair- 
dresser in town and he asked the modest sum of twelve 
cents, I decided that after all my friend's statement was 
not so unreasonable. 

I relapsed into my old ways in Aguas, that is I went 
in pursuit of a gorgeous zarape and landed the prize. 
I resolved, on beginning my journey, not to buy a single 
zarape; but this one was irresistible, a genuine Saltillo, 



214 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

with greens, blues, reds and yellows, all faded and mel- 
lowed with age. The wearer went into a shop to buy 
cigarros and I hung around till he came out, and then 
inquired politely if he cared to sell his overcoat. Of 
course he did ! Who ever saw a peon who would n't 
sell his zarape after the sun came out? The purchase 
involved a long walk in the wake of the peon and con- 
siderable talk as to price, but it resulted in his handing 
it over. He would get a new one, red and warm, for 
the sixth part of what he sold it for; and I was at last 
the happy possessor of a Saltillo zarape. And yet I 
was not happy. I had acquired, through the ignorance 
of the owner, property at less than its market-value. It 
is difficult to judge what the value of an antique zarape 
is, but I felt sure this one would bring many times what 
I paid for it. And with the thoughtless greed of the 
trader I had offered the peon less than he asked. While 
I make no pretense to extraordinary fairness in trade, 
I have never experienced satisfaction, the excitement 
once passed, in having gained unreasonable advantage. 
On my next visit to the mines of my friend, Don Alfredo, 
I presented the zarape to Dona Marciana, who' hung it 
up as a window-curtain. I discovered then that even 
a votive-offering does not atone for unscrupulous pos- 
sessing. 

I fear that I disappointed my Aguascalientes friends. 
They were constant in their attentions, and again I was 
bidden to their homes where I received the same kind 
and sincere welcome. My desire to be again in Mexico 
City increased; and while as in all great cities there is 
a hardness to surface-life in Mexico, there are also the 
brilliant accompaniments of hardness that attract. 
Then, too, my friends' vacations were nearly over, and 
they would shortly return to the capital. So it was with 




The convent 




In a convent garden, Puebla 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 217 

the prospect of an early meeting that we said, " Hasta 
luego ! " and I took train for Mexico City. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, in effect, that the traveler, 
journey where he will, carries his personal worries with 
him. This I proved on returning to Mexico. An 
uneasy, restless spirit possessed me, and, worst of 
all, I failed in my endeavor to analyze it. A Spanish 
philosopher has said, " There is a remedy for everything 
but death ! " I felt there was a cure for my restlessness 
if I could only discover it. As it was, a week in the 
capital was enough. The rains persisted, and the daily 
appearance, every afternoon, of dark, forbidding storm- 
clouds, with the close, oppressive air that in Mexico 
precedes the storm, proved unutterably depressing. At 
night the air, which was still sultry, was charged with 
a peculiar odor, suggesting salt-marsh ; and as none of 
my friends could account for it, they all assumed that 
it was both noxious and deadly. To add to the festive 
conditions extant in the capital, the drainage-works 
were then in course of construction ; and it seemed not 
unlikely the unwholesome smells emanated from there. 

My friends, observing my unrest, recommended a 
visit to Puebla ; and with slight urging from them, 
I set out for the " City of the Angels," with the added 
anticipation of seeing the pretty town of Jalapa, which 
enjoys a more mundane celebrity for the beauty of its 
women. 

Puebla Is well-named " City of the Angels." It 
proved little short of Heaven after la capital, with its 
heat, dust and drainage odors. I found that the salt- 
marsh odor, which had permeated Mexico City at night, 
was not pernicious, as I had feared. We had it for 
fully half an hour on the train after leaving, in crossing 
the flats which are full of alkali. I had a feeling of 



2i8 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

being near the sea. The ride to Puebla by day is charm- 
ing. At Texcoco the salt smell changes for the scent 
of flowers, and from there on the air is sweet. At 
Mazapa, where there is a big hacienda, I got the pun- 
gent, resinous smell of pine, and then I saw that the 
hacienda advertises pine timber. Otumba, which I al- 
ways associate with battles (Cortes had a tremendous 
fight there) looked peaceful enough. I saw several peo- 
ple embracing but no signs of fighting. 

Puebla's population is 95,000. The city impresses you 
at once with its cleanliness. You have the feeling of 
being high up (it is nearly as high as Mexico City) and 
also a feeling that you are not shut in. This is partly 
due to the outlook, which is unconfined save for low 
hills; yet there is a buoyancy, a freedom from oppres- 
sion in the atmosphere that adds to the feeling. 

The churches are gorgeous. I did not appreciate the 
cathedral at first and I doubt whether it is possible to 
appreciate so stupendous an edifice on short acquaint- 
ance. I had to grow to like Mexico's cathedral, while 
some of the smaller churches pleased me at once. The 
only cathedral that held me from the first was Morelia's. 
There is an enchanting quality, a lightness, a grace of 
outline, that captivate the beholder. I ended by enjoy- 
ing Puebla's cathedral. The rains had washed the 
marble figures of the saints snow-white, and made the 
gray building-stone more somber. I place a great deal of 
importance on color in buildings and their surroundings. 
In this connection, I fancy cloudy skies and dull gray 
days suit this cathedral better than the golden light and 
the bright blue heavens that seem the fitting environment 
for Morelia's. I never realized until now how I had un- 
consciously allowed these great churches to make for me 
the atmosphere of their respective cities. Mexico's 







^*--. 




Monument of Independence, Puebla 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 221 

cathedral is big, massive, commanding; generous and 
spreading, rather than towering in its proportions. That, 
of MoreHa has something fairy-Hke about it; its ro- 
mantic beauty seems to dominate the half-tropical city, 
with its silent houses, sleeping gardens, and air of 
mysterious repose. Puebla's cathedral is cold> severe, 
magnificent. It towers to Heaven, While Mexico's 
cathedral bells make a deafening tumult, cheery withal, 
and Morelia's bells are silver chimes, the bells of 
Puebla's great temple are deep-toned, solemn, austere. 
The city itself is dignified. The people have an air of 
quiet composure and there is little evidence of frivolity. 
The hospital of Puebla is an enormous and very 
splendid structure, filling the whole of one square, north, 
east, south and west. The entrance is adorned with a 
row of superb columns, and the front of the central or 
main portion is entirely of red, yellow and black bricks, 
disposed in an agreeable design and making a fine color 
effect. The other edifice of first importance is the 
Palacio Municipal, an elaborate structure of gray stone, 
fronting on the plaza. Puebla's houses are famous for 
their tiles, which give a picturesque variety of color, 
peculiar to this city alone, I believe. Often the fronts 
are of bright glazed tiles, with overhanging cornices of 
stone, elaborately carved and painted. You get the im- 
pression that the old residents were magnificent in their 
tastes ; though such profuseness of ornament in building 
could only have prevailed where labor cost little. Many 
of the houses, where not of tiles, are painted in delicate 
colors. I saw one which was a fine old rose, with its 
wide, richly carved cornice and balconies painted white. 
The balconies were filled with geraniums which made a 
blaze of color. The effect was charming. As in Mex- 
ico, many of the churches are hidden by other more 



222 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

recent buildings. Across the stretch of some uninter- 
esting roof, you get glimpses of fine bits of carving, the 
best part being effectually hidden. There are, too, many 
unfinished churches, though I never object to one tower 
being left incomplete. 

On approaching Puebla from Mexico you have a fine 
view of the great pyramid of Cholula, crowned by the 
little church of Nuestra Sehora de los Remedios, whose 
graceful lines and slender towers are well-known from 
photographs. It is hard to realize that the hill is arti- 
ficial, it is so covered with vegetation ; and harder still 
to substitute in the mind's eye, for the pure white church, 
the frowning walls of the old temple, dedicated to 
heathen rites and sacrifice. It is hard to realize that, 
at the coming of the Spaniards, where Puebla stands 
there was nothing; while quaint Cholula, now the merest 
pueblo, was then a great Indian city, a city of temples, 
the Mecca of the Indian empire. The ride from Puebla 
to Cholula is a matter of thirty minutes, but the con- 
trast is that of an old, retired village as opposed to a 
proud and opulent city. The houses of Cholula are 
generally one story and the churches are plain in con- 
struction. The people as a rule are Indian in type, but 
thrifty and neat; and the town has a comfortable air, 
the plaza especially being attractive and well kept. The 
old church of San Andres, outside the town, is a vener- 
able, moss-grown pile, and in it there is a quaintly 
carved confessional. The legend goes that in it a priest 
was murdered; and to this day you can see the blood 
stains on the rawhide covering. 

Puebla has a fine paseo or alameda with two splendid 
monuments. There is nothing better in Mexico, unless 
it be the Cuauhtemoc statue which would be remarkable 
anywhere. One of these is to Nicolas Bravo. A plain 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 223 

shaft of gray stone rises from the pedestal, with the 
figure of the hero in bronze, in general's uniform, and 
the angel of victory descending to crown him with laurel. 
The other, which is very large, is dedicated to " Los 
Heroes de la Independencia." The shaft is marble. The 
figures clustered about it, which are bronze, are Hidalgo, 
Iturbide, Morelos, Allende and Aldama. Then there 
is Pipila, with the great stone on his back, with which 
he battered in the doors of the royalist stronghold at 
Guanajuato, another peon with a torch, and the drum- 
mer boy, who peers up into Hidalgo's face while he 
beats the peal " to arms." The old paseo, which has 
magnificent trees, is now deserted, save by the common 
people. 

In the morning I went up to the hotel roof to view the 
city. I found a nice old lady up there, doing some odd 
chores, and she gladly showed me the various points of 
interest. She said she was born in the year of " the 
big cholera." I don't know just when that was, but I 
think early in the thirties. She told me the names of all 
the churches in Puebla, and she knew them by their 
towers. Then she showed me the forts of Loreto and 
Guadalupe of Cinco de Mayo fame, and told me how, 
after the fighting, she saw the dead soldiers lying under 
the portales. Pobrecitos (poor things) she called them. 
She told me about the soldiers Americanos coming, 
too, and declared that some of the charro horsemen 
cast their reatas at them, and dragged them from the 
saddle. They, too, were pobrecitos, as, in fact, were all 
who were killed, whether friend or foe. While listening 
to her, I was reminded that it was my country's birthday, 
seeing the stars and stripes floating from a housetop; 
and I was curious to see if she knew the flag. She said 
she was not sure, but she thought it was the Spanish 



224 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

flag: that some one was celebrating a dia santo. "Per- 
haps it is Tio Samuel (Uncle Samuel)," I suggested. 
She looked a little mystified and said, " Perhaps." 

As yet I had not seen the volcanoes for the clouds; 
but Abundio, the mozo in charge of my room, said at 
5 A. M. they were resplandecientes, (resplendent) and 
volunteered to call me. I guessed that Abundio was 
from Oaxaca, and this gratified him so that he gave me 
a short history of himself. He is a Mixteco, and ex- 
tremely warlike in his inclinations. He says his pueblo 
was continually in war with the adjoining one. He 
is n't quite sure whether he ever killed a man or not ; 
but after a fight, there would frequently be ten to a 
dozen dead. He said the Oaxaquefios are the bravest 
Indios in the republic, that they can live on little or noth- 
ing, even go two days without food; and that they can 
run up the steep hills and rocks like deer. He said 
he would not care to be a regular soldier, whom he con- 
temptuously called a slave, but he thought it was good 
to fight for pure liking. He liked geography and 
seemed to have a general idea of the old world coun- 
tries, asking whether Russia was as large as Estados 
Unidos. He was going to work till he had saved a 
hundred dollars. Then he would buy some good books, 
" with which one could civilize himself somewhat," and 
retire to his pueblo to study. Abundio assured me that 
all the most powerful men come from his state; and 
gave me a long list of names, beginning naturally with 
Don Porfirio Diaz, and also accounts of several battles in 
which he was the hero. I asked Abundio for fun if 
he had n't some Spanish blood. He shook his finger and 
said, " Not one drop." This was quite evident. He 
had a mat of coarse black hair, rather small, snapping 



i 



1 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO ci2'7 

eyes, and his face was very dark, but bright and viva- 
cious. 

While in Puebla I had a pleasant morning with the 
good priest in charge of the ancient convent " El Car- 
men." I found him entertaining a brother-priest, and 
together we wandered through the interminable corri- 
dors of the old convent, founded by the early Spaniards 
over three centuries ago, with the massive, carved arches, 
tiled stairways, and dilapidated but priceless paintings 
on the walls of the patios, where the sunlight reveals 
the wonderful colors, and in dark recesses, where they 
are scarcely visible. The convent is now a home for poor 
boys, and as there were no classes, the youngsters were 
busy making toy balloons of colored tissue paper, which 
the padre said delighted them above all other amuse- 
ments. 

As we strolled about, we compared adventures and 
impressions in traveling through the republic. The 
padre had traveled much in various parts and on various 
missions. He told of a long journey in the State of 
Michoacan, where they entered pueblos in which the 
Indians neither spoke a word of Spanish nor wore any 
clothing, other than the primitive cape of palm leaves. 
In one village, the people cried when they saw them, 
" Here come the revolutionists," and ran to get their 
machetes. On learning their mission, they cast them- 
selves on the ground, face down, and begged their bene- 
diction. They then did everything they could for their 
comfort, bringing them a hot drink of chocolate and 
ground melon seeds, their one article of food at that 
season. How little we know, in our railway travels, of 
the primitive peoples in Mexico ! 

This was the pleasantest experience of my visit to 



228 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

Puebla, and I think the padres enjoyed it as well. I am 
sure that no thought of creed entered anybody's mind. 
I knew them for good, devoted men, and they knew me 
for a fellow man. 

It had rained the best part of the time while I was in 
Puebla. The city takes care of the water in the streets 
better than any other in the republic. Although ap- 
parently level, there is still grade enough to keep the 
water moving; and wherever two streets come together, 
there is a box-like gutter of masonry, directly in the 
middle, which collects the flood and conveys it past the 
crossing. The gutters are spanned by little stone 
bridges, which are patronized by the gente decente (de- 
cent people) ; the common people, usually barefooted, 
seeming to prefer splashing through the muddy stream. 
Constant rain in a big city becomes very monotonous, 
and I was looking forward with joy to Jalapa, with its 
balmy air, wealth of flowers and various tropical beau- 
ties. 



i 



CHAPTER IX 

Fair Jalapa : New Scenes and Customs : A Strange Plant : 
The Stone Monkey : The Cathedral : The Market : The 
Plaza : Longing for Old Friends : Ancient Tlaxcala : His- 
torical Reminiscence : Convent of San Francisco : Meeting 
the Governor : El Santuario : Romance and Tragedy. 

I DEPARTED from Puebla in the morning. The 
first part of the journey lay across a level and fer- 
tile country, which ascends gradually, past the old 
Spanish fortress at Perote, to the summit at the ex- 
tremity of the tableland, where the altitude is over nine 
thousand feet. From there the descent into the hot 
country is rapid and the scenery is very beautiful. I 
arrived at Jalapa, which lies midway between the table- 
land and the coast, in the early afternoon. At first 
sight I thought, " It is like Uruapan ! " I took the open 
car, drawn by a six-mule team, and we started for el 
centra. The mules were buckskins, with the black stripe 
along the backbone and the zebra markings, that mean 
good breed; and they were as alike as six peas in a 
pod. They carried us at a spanking trot, up a long, 
narrow, cobble-paved street, between neat, one-story 
tiled houses, with wide, overhanging eaves common 
to the hot country. At the end of the street is a sharp 
ascent. The driver whistled and rattled the brake, the 
six buckskins tugged at their collars, there was a hur- 
ried scramble of hoofs on the cobbles, and we were at 
the top, trotting past the plaza with its palms, ever- 
greens and briar-rose hedges, into the center of the 

231 



^^^^ THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

town, where the old Cathedral looks across a smaller 
plaza at el Palacio Municipal, with the comfortable hotel 
and the wide portales filling the farther end of the 
square. On strolling to the plaza after dinner I was un- 
prepared for the magnificent scene that met my eyes. 
The plaza crowns the hill, and from it you look ofif, over 
the lower portion of the city, across a broad stretch of 
country to the distant mountains. It being then the 
rainy season, they were partly hidden by the mists, which 
rested on their peaks, filled the cafions, and floated before 
them, revealing illusive, sunlit vistas. What they must 
be on a clear day, with Orizaba lifting his white crest 
eighteen thousand feet into the blue, I could but partly 
conceive. Throughout my stay, I had not so much as 
a peep at the ancient monarch, and with Mrs. Hudson's 
charming legend fresh in mind, I fancied him, in his 
annual mourning period, when he wraps himself, head 
and all, in his cloud-blanket and refuses to look upon 
his people. 

Jalapa's plaza is a terrace garden, beautiful with 
flowers and crystal fountains ; but when you tire of all 
these, there are the mountains to look upon. You leave 
the place reluctantly, looking back, and resolve that next 
time you will devote yourself to the garden. I went 
the next morning determined to see nothing but the 
flowers, which were profuse and varied. The gardener 
said that March, April and May were the flower months. 
In addition to briar roses, which form the hedges, there 
were fuschias, hydrangeas, fleurs-de-lis, balsam, dahlias, 
marguerites, sweet william, larkspur, chrysanthemums, 
cadmus, canna, roses and lilies in variety, and many others 
that I did not know. There was one particularly gor- 
geous lily in the Spanish colors, crimson and gold ; and a 
shrub, called tulipan, which bears both a single and 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 233 

double flower of crimson, with yellow stamens. One has 
but one set of petals, with the yellow tuft in the center, 
while others, on the same tree, are as full as double 
poppies. 

Jalapa is a clean city. It is built on a hill and drains 
naturally. I smelled no uncanny smells there. The 
fountains are especially attractive, being usually of blue 
and white tiles, spotless, and filled with clear, cool water. 
There is that pleasant monotony in the houses which is 
peculiar to the old cities, or the old parts of cities. I 
am sure the eye is oftener troubled by the glaring unre- 
lation of adjoining houses, than by their sameness. In 
Jalapa there are whole squares of low, cool-looking 
houses, some light- blue, others terra-cotta or white. 
The tile roofs have taken on a good color with age : 
the windows are protected by green or black bars, and 
through the Moorish grills at the entrances one gets a 
glimpse of flowering patios. All growing things flourish, 
there is such an abundance of water. In the outskirts of 
the city, many houses have extensive walled gardens, 
which are jungles of coffee shrubs and banana palms. 
As the roadways are built up, you look over the walls 
and down upon a tangled thicket of green. On every 
hand you hear running water, but so thick is the foli- 
age, you seldom see it. Many of these walls are pro- 
vided with a long, low bench on the street side; in fact 
there is every opportunity for resting, with comfortable 
seats lining the long front corridor of the palace and 
chairs under the portales, fronting the plaza. Never- 
theless I was impressed by the vivacity and activity of 
the Jalapenos. They are quite different in this respect 
from any people I have met in my travels. The lower 
classes are notably decent and cleanly. They walk 
rapidly, with erect, graceful carriage, and collectively 



234 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

they are a handsome people. I noticed more than usual 
in the poor people, that gentle, kindly expression that 
draws me to them : and if I spoke to them, their way of 
answering showed them as kindly as they looked. 

The city has rather a cosmopolitan air and really is a 
center in a way. The foreigner attracts little attention, 
but meets everywhere with friendly treatment. One gets 
an idea of what is meant by la franquesa de la casta (the 
frankness of the coast). There is little begging and all 
the working-people have a comfortable look. This ex- 
tends to the beasts. The mules are all sleek and lively, 
and I saw men leading burros with halters. This burro 
seems quite different from the one we see in Mexico City. 
iHe is quite a fiery little fellow, proud and quick-stepping, 
and looks as though he would bolt on provocation. Could 
anything be more different than the yoking and driving of 
oxen in Northern lands and in Mexico? Here the yoke 
is for the neck, and the oxen are guided by " Gee-haw, 
buck ! " There, the yoke is for the horns, and the 
driver walks silently ahead, his goad resting lightly 
on the cross-bar between the heads of the oxen and the 
great brutes follow its slightest deviation. 

Jalapa is lighted by electricity, as are the palace and 
various buildings. The Jalapa Electric Light and Power 
Co., which has its plant at the falls of Texolo, lights in 
addition to Jalapa, the adjacent towns of Coatepec, Xico 
and Teocelo, and several large haciendas, besides sup- 
plying power for factories and coffee mills. At Xico, 
about an hour's run from Jalapa, trains connect with 
the stage, which conveys passengers to la Cascada de 
Texolo one of the beauty spots thereabouts. Texolo, 
pronounced Tay-sho-lo, means " stone monkey." In a 
corn patch, at some little distance from the falls, there 
is a rock with the figure of a monkey carved on it. 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 235 

The Indians that people the district say that when the 
fathers of their tribe settled there, they encountered the 
carving, left by a previous people. The older tribe, ac- 
cording to legends, was very extensive. Old Xico, whose 
site is now marked by a few ruined dwellings, is said to 
have been a large town. A plague destroyed the popu- 
lace and the town gradually disappeared. An extensive 
area is thickly strewn with obsidian arrow fragments and 
pieces of pottery, and a number of stone idols have 
been discovered there. 

The falls, which are magnificent, are in a deep gorge, 
where vegetation runs riot. There are beautiful wild 
flowers, among them orchids of a brilliant rose-pink, 
and the finest ferns I ever saw. The tree ferns are es- 
pecially large and full and there is a finer variety, which 
hangs from the rocks in great clusters ; also a species 
that I think is called elk-horn. The strangest plant is 
one with a feathery, fern-like foliage called vergonsoso 
which I take to mean, " the ashamed one." At the 
slightest touch, not only of a live body but of any for- 
eign object, the leaves curl up tightly and remain closed 
■ — how long I cannot say. You touch the top of the 
plant and it shuts up, quick as a wink : you touch a lower 
branch, and presto! that has closed. If you grasp the 
stalk, the entire thing seems to go to sleep, all the little 
branches drooping, hanging limp and apparently life- 
less. The flower is a little fuzzy tuft, pale pink. There 
is another plant, evidently of the same family, which has 
a yellow bloom. When there are no flowers, however, 
you cannot tell them apart except by their actions. He 
of the yellow flower is quite unabashed when you lay 
hold of him. He holds up his head in defiance, where 
his little pink sister droops with shame. My host did 
not know the name of this bravo, so we christened him 



236 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

"sin verguenza" (without shame). In walking about 
you continually encounter one or the other, and you 
cannot resist touching every one, to see whether it is ver- 
gonzoso, or not. We learned later that the unashamed is 
called sensitivo. I picked some of each, and though the 
latter held out for some time, he eventually curled up 
as the other; so he is sensitive, if not supersensitive. 
Perhaps he is like the male of other species. If left 
alone, he eventually becomes a tree, resembling some- 
what the pepper tree. As to vergonzoso, I cannot say. 
I should suppose each rebuff scared her out of fully a 
year's growth, and that, in this way, she would never 
reach maturity. 

Two other plants, that we did not touch, are known as 
mal homhre (bad man) and mala nmjer (bad woman). 
They have broad, flat leaves and are really nettles. 

One thing reminded me of the North, even there. 
It was a beautiful creeper with a blue flower like our 
morning-glory. In the North, it is carefully tended and 
opens only for a few hours in the morning. Here it 
runs wild over everything, coffee plants, banana palms, 
fences and trees alike ; leaping from one to another, 
trailing in streamers and deep festoons, and flaunting 
its exquisite azure flowers all day long, and all night, 
for aught I know. 

I am reminded to speak of the birds. They are every- 
where, — in cages, in the trees, in the city and out of it; 
and all sing, with full-throated, flute-like voices. I im- 
agine the altitude, less than four thousand feet, is better 
for vocal organs than a higher one. In the mountains, 
at a height of eight to ten thousand feet, there are no 
song birds ; at least where I have been. There are plenty 
of birds, but all have harsh, shrill cries. Even the cat- 




On the Viga Canal 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 239 

tie seem incapable of good hearty lowing, but bleat feebly 
as though they had weak lungs. 

Every time I went on the streets I noticed things 
that are different from Mexico City. The women of the 
serving-class wear, many of them, what I should call 
for lack of a better name, a sort of scuff slipper which 
protects the toes and sole of the foot and is only kept in 
place by scuffing as they walk. It is unusual to see a 
slovenly house mozo. His clothes are all wash material 
and show that they are frequently laundered. The poor- 
est evidently possess at least one change. As the serv- 
ants here are more active, much more seems to be re- 
quired of them. Our table-boy swept the corridor and 
did chamber work besides ; and if one of the children 
cried while he was serving the table, he darted out to 
pacify it. Some of the Jalapa milkmen ride horses or 
mules, and carry four cans in straw pockets, slung fore 
and aft from the saddle. Pulque, which is brought from 
up above, is delivered on mule-back, in bottles held in 
two crates which hang one on each side of the mule, who 
wears a collar of bells, and seems proud of his pro- 
fession. The cargadores are a fine, sturdy set, also 
comparatively clean, feet and all; and they bow to you 
on the slightest provocation. They are evidently a step 
towards the Veracruz cargador, who drinks vino tinto 
and banquets his cronies. I noticed that many peones 
smoked large, villainous-looking, black cigars. I never 
saw that but once in Mexico, and the smoker, I felt sure 
from his gloomy eye, was away from his own tierra. 
The street venders seldom cry their wares. At dusk, 
nimble fellows in spotless white, trot about carrying 
wooden trays with delicious, shiny loaves of bread; and 
the inevitable dulces and peanuts are sold on the curb. 



240 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

The cathedral is an interesting old edifice, with one 
tower, generally rambling and picturesque, and little 
Moorish, grated windows, scattered here and there, and 
a clock which is lighted at night. I arrived in time for 
mass. The church was undergoing repairs, outside and 
in, and scaffolding and ladders were everywhere. The 
workmen evidently had orders to keep working, no mat- 
ter what happened. Some six or eight were busily 
chipping stone-work inside, and the racket quite drowned 
the priest's intoning and the piping of the small organ. 
The boys' voices, however, rose above the din, and 
seemed unusually clear and sweet. At the elevation of 
the Host, two wheels, one on each side of the altar, all 
hung with bells, were whirled rapidly by altar boys, 
and rang musically. I never happened to see this before. 
As the mass proceeded, the Indian workmen gradually 
stopped work, and stood reverently attentive, all save 
one big fellow, who kept doggedly at it, pounding away 
with a small sledge-hammer. The mass ended and the 
people went out, but he seemed quite oblivious to all 
save the work in hand. A group of Italian laborers sat 
near me and they seemed serious and devout, though 
they paid slight attention to the usual forms. 

The city market is a big, imposing structure, very 
plain, surrounded by broad corridors with fine arches, 
and with an entrance on each of its four sides, between 
rows of massive pillars. The rotunda has a fountain 
and stalls, which are not in use, the display all being 
in the outer corridors, which are really portales with 
shops and restaurants opening upon them. The favor- 
ite cafe which is always crowded to the door, is naturally 
la Jalapeiia, which is presided over by a very pretty 
girl, with the customary rose tucked back of the ear. 
At one corner of the market there is a clump of wil- 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 241 

lows, shading a stone fountain with a broad rim, just 
right for a seat, and there the people are lolling morn- 
ing, noon and night. The night life of Jalapa is like 
that of Guadalajara, though possibly it keeps up till a 
later hour. Ladies promenade in groups, both with and 
without escorts ; and on all sides you hear the sweet 
salutation, Adios! ending with the rising inflection, in- 
stead of dropping the voice, as in Mexico. I have 
noticed it too, in the suburbs of the capital. Perhaps 
it means more intimate relations among the residents. 
At night the moon broke through the clouds and favored 
us for quite an hour. The plaza was very animated, 
with groups of pretty girls and caballeros promenading, 
and children romping. I think they were playing ring- 
around-the-rosy in Spanish. 

The Alameda or Parque Hidalgo, in the older part 
of town, is a quaint place, circular, and surrounded by 
huge masonry benches, fully eighteen feet long, placed 
at intervals of six feet around the entire circle. Evi- 
dently when Jalapa is en fiesta she has crowds to take 
care of. The place seemed like a great amphitheater, 
with the trees sprung up inside and filling the arena. 
I am continually impressed by the remarkable building 
of the old Spaniards, from their greatest monuments to 
their smallest. These old bench'es are massive, dignified 
and finely proportioned. 

I stayed a week in Jalapa. In the end, the lavish 
profuseness of nature and the constant rains became 
oppressive. There was too much of everything, — water, 
vegetation, flowers. I found it enervating in every way, 
yet could not make up my mind to leave. I sat outside 
the hotel a long time, trying to diagnose the unsatisfied, 
restless feeling that for weeks had troubled me. And 
I succeeded. I was homesick for the mines, — for my 



242 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

good friends, Don Alfredo and Dona Marciana. I went 
to my room and began preparations for departure. I 
already felt better and began to whistle. 

Before I left Mexico for Puebla, it had been planned 
that a friend who was leaving, a few days later, for 
Oaxaca, should join me in Jalapa; and that on our 
homeward journey, we should visit the ancient city of 
Tlaxcala, capital of the state of the same name, which 
adjoins the state of Puebla on the north. I was re- 
luctant to abandon this visit, yet the failure of my friend 
to appear half-inclined me to do so. Then, too, the 
thought of a reunion with Don Alfredo and Dona 
Marciana was now transcending all other interests. I 
was still in doubt when I took the north-bound train. 
I had always been interested in Tlaxcala. History gives 
it a foremost place among the ancient Indian nations, and 
it occupies the unique one of never having yielded al- 
legiance to the great Montezuma. Many and fierce were 
the battles between the heroic Tlaxcaltecas and the 
Mexicanos, who wished to subdue them. The former 
were always victorious, and the little State retained its 
independence, until the coming of the Spaniards. Tlax- 
cala was a republic. The people, generally supposed to 
have belonged, with the Aztecs, to the Nahuatl family, 
lived first on the shores of Lake Texcoco; but owing 
to quarrels with the Aztecs and other neighboring king- 
doms, they migrated to the region now known as Tlax- 
cala, which is bounded by the states of Mexico, Puebla, 
Hidalgo and Veracruz. There they became a hardy, 
vigorous and independent people ; repeatedly repelling the 
attacks of the other tribes, who frequently laid siege to 
their stronghold. 

When Cortes reached the tableland, in his march to 
the capital of Montezuma, he found it desirable to pass 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 245 

through Tlaxcala ; and he sent messengers to the capital, 
to ask the right of way. He met with a peremptory re- 
fusal, but he was determined to pass with or without 
permission, and the result was a number of bloody bat- 
tles with the Tlaxcaltecas, in all of which the latter were 
defeated with heavy losses. A treaty of peace was at 
last effected, and the Spaniards, as friends and guests of 
the people, entered the city of Tlaxcala, which then occu- 
pied the hills above the site of the present town. They 
were met by multitudes at the gates of the city, who 
showered them with flowers and adorned their horses' 
necks with garlands. One historian says a hundred 
thousand people came out to meet them ; and Cortes 
himself, in a letter to the emperor, compared the city 
with Granada, affirming that it was larger and more 
populous. It was divided into four quarters, separated 
one from the other by high stone walls, and governed 
respectively, each by its own chief or sefior. The four 
chiefs were Maxixcatzin, Xicotencatl (the elder), 
Tlehuexolotzin and Citlalpopocatzin, and their names are 
inscribed on a tablet in the old convent as the first 
Tlaxcaltecas to receive Christian baptism. From that 
time until the conquest was completed, the Tlaxcaltecas 
were the faithful friends and allies of the Spaniards, to- 
gether with the Cempoallans or Totonaca, the friendly 
Indians of Veracruz, who had aided Cortes in van- 
quishing those of Tlaxcala. 

After the massacre of Cholula, when Cortes resumed 
his march to Mexico, and the Cempoallans abandoned 
him, fearful to trust themselves within the domains of 
Montezuma, the brave Tlaxcaltecas were steadfast and 
accompanied him to the Aztec capital. They shared with 
the Spaniards the horrors of the Noche Triste and all 
the hardships of that disastrous retreat; and far from 



246 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

blaming them as the cause .of their misfortunes, were 
stancher than ever in their devotion. They shared, too, 
in the victorious battle of Otumba, afterwards guiding 
the Spaniards back to Tlaxcala, where they were given 
a warm welcome and found friends to nurse them and 
heal their wounds; the chiefs assuring them that they 
and their people were their faithful allies till death. 
It was in Tlaxcala that thirteen brigantines were built 
under Martin Lopez, with the ready aid of Indian work- 
men; and these ships were carried over the mountains, 
piecemeal, on the backs of Indians, to the lake of Tex- 
coco. The journey took four days and the escort was 
composed of twenty thousand Tlaxcalan warriors. In 
the final siege of the Aztec capital, the Tlaxcaltecas were 
the main support of Cortes ; and a Tlaxcalan chief helped 
rescue the conqueror, when his horse was killed under 
him, and he was about to be carried off a prisoner. 
How any one could ever question the fidelity of the 
Indian as a friend, after these events, which are his- 
torical, I cannot understand. 

When I reached Puebla, it was raining: in fact I had 
seen little else but rain for a week past. Whom should 
I run across in Puebla, but my friend Don Miguel, whom 
I had expected to meet at Jalapa but who had been 
held up five days by washouts down Oaxaca way. As 
I have said, our plans had included a trip to Tlaxcala, 
but I had given that up, being tired of prowling about 
alone. It is well enough in bright weather, but on rainy 
days I want a human companion. 

" Shall we not go to Tlaxcala ? " Don Miguel asked, 
after making it clear that el agtia (the water) and not 
he was to blame for our tardy meeting. At the magic 
name " Tlaxcala " the day brightened visibly. My 
"Why not?" had such a taken- for-granted sound, I be- 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 247 

gan to believe I had never really given np going. Our 
train left at 7 130 the following morning, and the day 
was gloomy enough, with rain imminent; but with a 
good companion, I forgot the weather. We had coffee 
at the station where the Chinese boys spoke neither 
English nor Spanish, a thing I often notice in the 
Mongolian in Mexico. These Chinese eating-houses in- 
variably have good, hot soda-biscuit and the vilest cof- 
fee, with a strong savor of the ubiquitous cockroach. 
The ride from Puebla to Santa Ana Chiautempan, 
where we left the train for the street car, takes about an 
hour, I always feel, when I leave the railroad, I am 
getting closer to old Mexico. Railroads are fine things 
to take you comfortably near any given shrine, but for 
the last ten or twenty miles, give me a diligencia or at 
least a street car. At San Pablo Apetatitlan, a little 
pueblo we passed through, all was delightfully primitive ; 
and in the quaint church, evidently very old, the bell was 
tolling mournfully, announcing a recent death in the vil- 
lage, and calling on the living to pray for the soul of 
the dead. The tolling is called dohlando, and my com- 
panion admitted that while he knew it was practised of 
old, he had never heard it before. The bell was also 
tolled formerly when death was at hand. Agonias it 
was called, and it supplicated prayers for the dying. 
Both impressed me as solemn and beautiful. 

As we left San Pablo, we caught a momentary glimpse 
of two beautiful towers, that just showed above the 
hills between us and Tlaxcala. A young charro said 
the church was El Santuario de Ocotlan, so-called from 
the appearance of the Virgin in a pine tree; from which 
the ocote (pitch-pine) is taken. We lost sight of them 
immediately, but this only added to our anticipation. 
The delight in approaching a town for the first time. 



248 THE MAN WHO LIKES- MEXICO 

in this land where all towns have something of the 
picturesque and beautiful, is indescribable. Before we 
entered Tlaxcala, we passed innumerable abandoned 
houses of adobe fast going to ruin, which evidently 
once constituted an extensive suburban district. On 
reaching the town itself, we inquired for the best hotel, 
and were told there was but one, which simplified mat- 
ters. My friend had assured me that we should call on 
Governor Cahuantzi, of whom I had heard much and 
whom I was anxious to meet. I reminded him that we 
had brought no letters, but he said that made no differ- 
ence. " I am a Mexican," he said, " and yoti are a jour- 
nalist. It is but right that we should pay our respects to 
the Governor." Almost immediately on our arrival, 
however, he encountered a good friend in an old resident 
of the town, and this gentleman offered to present us. 
We went at once to the palace, where he made an ap- 
pointment for us to meet the Governor, and we then 
set out to see the city. 

The palace is very large and very old, dating from 
the sixteenth century. Its dilapidated state had made 
repairs necessary, but thus far they had been unob- 
trusive. The exterior had been replastered and left 
in the natural color with no attempt at ornament, leav- 
ing the beautiful stone carving about the entrances, as 
it was left by the Spaniards. Inside, native workmen 
were frescoing the main hall after a quaint Indian 
fashion, with warriors in battle array, and the ancient 
deities of the n&tions; the effect being singularly pleas- 
ing. I wish more of the early life of the country might 
be embodied in modern decoration. Innumerable charm- 
ing legends afford themes for series of wall-panels, that 
would make a theater or other public edifice wonderfully 
interesting. 



W 




Tower and cypress-trees 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 251 

Tlaxcala's plaza is large and shaded by magnificent 
trees, with a profusion of the shrub known as huele de 
noche, which, as the name suggests, is fragrant at night. 
It bears fine, white flowers, and either by special dis- 
pensation, or on account of the rain which was already 
falling, it filled the air, though it was barely midday, 
with a strong, sweet aroma like magnolias. The parterres 
were all outlined by borders of black and white peb- 
bles, worked into ornamental designs, both Grecian and 
Indian figures appearing. The walks were well kept, 
and the whole town impressed me as clean. 

The first church we entered was that of the old con- 
vent of San Francisco. The ancient pile, largely in ruins, 
is on a low hill a little above the town. The buildings 
may well be called antiqiiisimos, as they were constructed 
shortly after the conquest, on the site of an Indian 
temple. Some of the walls of this temple still survive. 
An immense gateway leads into the convent inclosure. 
The bell tower stands alone, separated from the build- 
ings, and some ominous crevices in the masonry suggest 
a general collapse at no distant day. A portion of the 
convent now serves as a cuartel and prison; but the 
church is preserved, being sustained by private subscrip- 
tion. The altars are very rich, though the carving is 
not so fine as in many of the old churches, and the 
paintings are dim with age and extremely interesting. 
I was impressed by the first one at the left on enter- 
ing. It is entitled " Nuestra Seiiora de la Antigua." 
The Virgin and Child are in dark blue robes, covered 
with a small design in gold. The Virgin, whose face 
is very beautiful and dignified, holds a lily in her right 
hand; and two angels support a crown above her. In 
one of the chapels is the figure of the good San Benito 
de Palermo, ebony black and richly adorned. And this 



252 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

reminds me that in some of the oldest, most isolated 
temples, I have seen images of the Christ, which if not 
black, were nearly so. A dark nut-brown comes nearer 
the color, perhaps. I remember one most remarkable, 
that had long black hair that hung below the middle of 
the figure. The most precious relics in San Francisco, 
however, are the first pulpit from which the Christian 
religion was preached in Mexico, and the font at which 
the four governors of the Indian republic were bap- 
tized. Both pulpit and font are of stone. Above the 
latter is a tablet, with the following inscription: 

"En esta fuente recibieran la fe Catolica los cuatro 
s enactor es de la antigua Republic a de Tlaxcala. El acto 
religioso tuvo lugar el ano 1520, siendo ministro Don 
Juan Diaz, Capellan del ejercito conquistador ; y padri- 
nos, el capitan, Don Hernan Cortes y sus distinguidos 
eUciales, Don Pedro de Alvarado, Don Andres de Tapia, 
Don Gonsalo de Sandoval, y Don Cristobal de Olid. 

"A Maxixcatsiu; se le did el novibre de Lorenzo, y d 
Xicohtencatl se le did el nombre de Vicente, y a Cla- 
husiolochi el de Gonzalo, y a Ziclapopocal el de Barto- 
lome." 

" At this font received the Catholic faith the four 
senators of the ancient Tlaxcalan republic. The reli- 
gious act took place the year 1520, the minister being 
Don Juan Diaz, chaplain of the conquering army, and the 
god-fathers, the captain, Don Hernan Cortes and his 
distinguished officers, Don Pedro de Alvarado, Don 
Andres de Tapia, Don Gonzalo de Sandoval, and Don 
Cristobal de Olid. 

" To Maxixcatzin was given the name Lorenzo, and to 
Xicohtencatl was given the name Vincente, and to 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 253 

Clahtiziolochi that of Gonzalo, and to Ziclapopocal that 
of Bartolome." 

There seems a great difference in the spelling of 
Indian names by various writers. These are copied as 
they are inscribed on the tablet. 

Before leaving this old church of San Francisco, I 
must speak of the wonderful arrangement of cedar cross- 
beams or girders, fashioned in a most beautiful and 
decorative way, and resisting the wear of more than 
three centuries. 

From San Francisco, we went directly to the palace. 
We were conducted through a long suite of apartments 
and came finally to a handsomely furnished salon, which 
the Governor entered to receive us. Colonel Prospero 
Cahuantzi, Governor of Tlaxcala, claimed with pride 
that he was a direct descendant of the brave Tlaxcalteca 
race. Despite the fact that his sixty-seventh birthday 
was close at hand, he was apparently in the prime of 
life, showing the old time virility of his people. He 
gave us a cordial welcome, and my friend at once told 
him who we were, and what the object of our visit. At 
first the Governor spoke rather deprecatingly of Tlaxcala, 
saying it was little more than a rancho ; but on finding 
that we were interested in the state and its history, he 
talked delightfully about it. His memory was remark- 
able and he had historical dates at his fingers' ends. He 
indicated where the ancient city had stood, and assured 
us that a portion of San Francisco's walls was really 
that of a Tlaxcalan temple. In connection with the 
first baptismal rites, he said that Otila, the"daughter of 
Maxixcatzin, was actually baptized before the chiefs. 
This maiden had for a lover none other than the noble 
Cuauhtemoc. As Governor Cahuantzi expressed it, she 
was " Cuauhtemoc's novia." She was beautiful, and the 



254 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

ardent young Velasquez de Leon fell in love with her at 
sight. " Neither knew a single word of the language of 
the other," said the governor, " nevertheless he began 
making her flowery speeches." The damsel's heart was 
won by the gallant young officer, and the latter lost no 
time in requesting Padre Olmeda to marry them. 

" But, my son," said the padre, " it is impossible ! 
You and this girl are of different races: you have not 
the same language: she is not even a Christian. Im- 
possible ! " 

" Baptize her then and make her one ! " said the fiery 
Velasquez de Leon. " Marry her I will ! " 

The idea of baptism was not unpleasant to the padre. 
Cortes was consulted and readily acceded. The troops 
were called out, there was a grand parade with martial 
salutes and music, and Otila was received into the Chris- 
tian church with the new name Estefania, and sealed to 
Velasquez de Leon as his lawful wife. 

Now comes the tragedy. On the Noche Triste, during 
that awful fight on the causeway of Tacuba, Cuauhtemoc, 
the betrayed lover, killed Velasquez de Leon with his 
own hand. 

Governor Cahuantzi spoke fluently of the ancient 
language of Tlaxcala, which was the Mexicana. At a 
recent celebration of the anniversary of Cuauhtemoc, he 
delivered an address in the Mexican tongue. We had a 
-very interesting half hour, and then bade him good-by 
reluctantly. 

We had dinner at the restaurant under the portales 
with a small, active boy for waiter. Dinner over, we set 
out on a pilgrimage to el Santuario, whose towers we 
saw in approaching the town, and which stands on the 
hill above it. It is a beautiful church, snow white, with 
extremely graceful towers and ornate facade. I was 




Ixtacalco 




Churchyard gateway 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 257 

disappointed to find the base of the ornament only was 
stone, with an application of something like staff to 
finish it. The image of the Virgin at the main altar is 
said to be very miraculous and the sacristy is lined with 
a series of elaborate paintings that impressed me 
slightly. We heard, latpr, that the best pictures were 
in another chapel, which we did not know existed, it be- 
ing directly behind the main altar. 

Tlaxcala has a museum, with a fine collection of idols 
and ancient relics of the Christian church. Among the 
latter are some splendid old chairs and vestments heavy 
with gold embroidery. An interesting exhibit are bow 
and arrows, with flint tips, said to be originals. We 
spent the rainy afternoon at the museum, and bade fare- 
well to Tlaxcala in that gloomy half-light, well suited to 
conjuring up phantom cities and armies. I had satu- 
rated myself with Tlaxcalan history; the little town it- 
self (it has only about three thousand souls) bore the 
stamp of antiquity, and on the long dark ride to the 
railroad, the deeds of the old conquerors and their allies, 
los Tlaxcaltecas, seemed very real and near. 



CHAPTER X 

The Fiesta of Covadonga: Gaiety of the Spaniard: His 
Mexican Cousin Helps Him Celebrate: Epifanio's Tip: His 
Version of the Spanish Conquest: The Eve of Mexican In- 
dependence : Quaint Folk Songs : Dancing in the Streets : 
Viva Mexico. 



o 



N my arrival in Mexico City I was pleased to 

find there my young friend, Rafael de la G , 

who had just returned from taking his post- 
graduate in Columbia University. I had always found 
his conversation interesting; and now he came, eager 
to tell me his impressions of my country, while I too 
had many pleasant things to relate about my life in 
Mexico. I also told him of my resolve tO' shortly under- 
take the journey into the Durango mountains to rejoin 
my friends in the mines. He heard my plans with the 
attentiveness that I always remarked in my Mexican 
friends ; and while he sympathized with my state of 
mind, he advised me to remain a few weeks longer in the 
capital, if only to attend the Fiesta of Covadonga, which 
is annually celebrated by the Spanish Colony, and is es- 
sentially Spanish in character. To this proposal I gladly 
assented. The Spaniards in Mexico interested me ex- 
ceedingly, although until now I had been impressed solely 
by their indefatigability in work and in business, Rafael 
assured me that the Spaniards entered into this Cova- 
donga celebration, the only one they permitted themselves 
in a foreign land, with the same prodigious energy that 
characterized their business ; and that it was the one 

258 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 259 

opportunity I should find in Mexico to appreciate the 
Spanish character. Further, he placed himself at my 
disposal on the day of the fiesta, promising to meet me 
in the early forenoon, and to see that I missed nothing 
from the beginning of the celebration. 

The Fiesta of Covadonga fell early the following 
week. Rafael and I met, as agreed, and proceeded to 
the old church of Santo Domingo, in the plaza of that 
name, where it is believed the Aztecs first saw the prom- 
ised sign of the eagle perched on the cactus, with the 
serpent in his talons. The church was richly hung with 
red and gold. High mass was celebrated, and for the 
first time I heard the Spanish national air. From Santo 
Domingo, we went direct to the Tivoli Eliseo. 

I had attended other fiestas at the Tivoli Eliseo, occa- 
sions of discreet gaiety. People wore their best clothes, 
promenaded, showered each other with confetti, and 
waltzed a little in the pavilion. It was pretty but tire- 
some. Confetti-throwing is charming in theory but 
quite inane as a diversion. I had feared that sponta- 
neous mirth, free and unrestrained, was over, at least 
where " grown-ups " were concerned. Then kind fate 
sent me to the Fiesta of Covadonga. There was little 
confetti-throwing. The Spaniard had come to dance. 
He had worked early and late for three hundred and 
sixty-four days, busily gathering pesetas in his adopted 
country. It may be doubted if he thought much of 
Espaiia. Early rising and the rush of trade are not 
conducive to reminiscence. But on the three hundred 
and sixty-fifth day he closes his shop and attends high 
mass at Santo Domingo. Then he puts on his rakish 
boina, takes a cup of cider with his cronies, and proceeds 
to dance with a gusto that is a revelation. I have always 
heard that the Spaniards and Irish are related. No 
13 



26o THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO ■ 

other people, except the sons of Erin, possess such an 
irrepressible flow of spirits. Indeed I saw many a smil- 
ing, good-natured face that might have hailed from the 
Emerald Isle. The favorite dance was the jota, per- 
formed by a lad and his novia or by two men, to the 
time of a quick waltz, and accompanied by castanets or 
the snapping of fingers. There was an abundance of 
music but even music was not indispensable. If a young 
Gachupin (Spaniard) and his chum felt like dancing 
between the numbers, they snapped their fingers merrily, 
and danced, without music. They seemed totally in- 
different to observation. They danced because they 
enjoyed it and there was an end of it. 

There were three military bands, several orchestras of 
stringed instruments and innumerable pipes, drums, 
mandolins and guitars. The local Mexican bands each 
formed a circle, with the maestro in the center sur- 
rounded by dancers. Among them was the famous 
" Artilleria," which has won fame in the United States. 
This band had just finished a piece, and the breathless 
dancers were rapturously shouting for " otra," (an- 
other). In response they played a delightful waltz com- 
posed by one of their own number, with a refrain sung 
by the musicians : 

Viva Espana valerosa, 

Cuna de grandes procsas! 
Viva Andalucia famosa. 

For sus valientes bellesas! 

Long live brave Spain, 

Cradle of heroic deeds ! 
And Andalucia, — 

Famed for her valorous beauty! 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 261 

Then the players shouted, " Ole ! Viva Espana ! " The 
dancers responded " Viva ! Ole con Ole ! " and danced 
more furiously. In the ring a charming child of nine 
or ten years danced with a boy somewhat older. There 
were several couples of young men and one who played 
a panderete or tambourine, with more skill than I have 
often seen on the minstrel stage, striking it with his 
elbow, head and heels almost simultaneously. Then he 
leaped into the midst of the circle and performed a wild 
dance that I never saw equaled for skill and grace. The 
lightest, most tireless dancers were the Aragonese. The 
Basques were a good second, and perhaps quite as in- 
defatigable as the first, but less graceful. The men 
from different provinces could be distinguished by their 
dialects, Gallegan, Basque, Andalucian, Catalan, — or by 
some peculiarity of costume. All danced. One moment 
a group would be in full fling to the music of the pipes ; 
the next, a band had struck up an inspiring jota in some 
other part of the grounds and they were off like a shot. 
The head man picks a place and shouts, " Aqui bail- 
amos!" (We dance here!). He faces his partner and 
rattles his castanets. A space is cleared, and they are 
at it again, with all their might. As a rule they danced 
in couples, but one lad, who was the center of all eyes 
wherever he went, danced alone. He had a bright, jolly 
expression and wore a pongee blouse and dark blue boina. 
The minute the music ceased in one place, he darted away 
to another. I finally surprised him taking breath and 
praised his dancing, asking where he haled from. He 
replied from Asturia; that he had been all over Spain 
and Mexico and on the following day was off for los 
Estados Unidos. Meantime he was celebrating his feast- 
day having a good time. He was a handsome lad, not 
over sixteen, with an engaging smile and a dash of reck- 



262 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

lessness that betrayed the adventurous spirit of the 
Spaniard. He was mopping his brow, when of a sudden 
a band began playing. " La jota ! " he shouted and 
started off at a run. I did not see him again, but I 
fancied he would not lack friends among the Americanos. 
As I addressed a remark in Spanish to Rafael, a hoarse 
voice close at my ear said, " All right ! " It was a ' 
youthful Gachupin, who knew the Saxon twang, and was 
anxious to exhibit his own efficiency in English. He 
showed his delight at attracting my attention in a broad 
yet rather sheepish grin that made me laugh too. It 
was now growing dark and things were becoming 
livelier. Strings of brilliant lanterns were festooned 
from tree to tree and the white glare of the electric 
light fell in patches throughout the garden. What is 
there in the night that makes gaiety still gayer? It 
seemed the revelers had been peculiarly fit from the 
start; but now, if such a thing were possible, they be- 
came fitter. Perhaps sidra helped out more or less. It 
is a mildly fizzing beverage that I should call cham- 
pagne-cider ; and much less heady than the old time New 
England brew designated as " hard." Musicians and 
dancers alike seemed to have got their second wind and 
the scene became more and more animated. It was stir- 
ring — contagious ! Here a couple danced beneath the 
trees, first in light, then in shadow. There a merry 
group whirled in the blaze of the arc-light. Now a crowd 
of breathless lads appeared in search of a new field. 
" Aqui bailamos ! " and they were at it again. Wild 
applause came from the direction of the " banda de 
Artilleria " and we hurried to see what was up. It was 
the prettiest sight I had seen that day. A slip of a girl, 
in a clinging dress of some shimmering material — elec- 
tric blue, I should say — with a long sash of crimson, a 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 265 

dark tam-o'-shanter tilted coquettishly over one ear, with 
her hair blown in ringlets that kept getting into her 
eyes and with a smile that got into the eyes of others, 
was dancing the jota with her novio. All I can tell 
about him is that he was dancing too. She was straight 
and slender as a reed and much more graceful. Her face 
was delicate and thoroughbred, with that alluring beauty, 
sometimes called la beiite de Diable. Around her neck 
was a long string of crystal beads that had the effect of 
brilliants, with a tiny, crimson fan dangling at the end. 
Her little high-heeled shoes were just visible as she 
danced. No wonder we applauded and cried, " Otra." 
The bandmaster made her a bow and a gallant^ speech. 
She flashed him a dazzling smile and the next moment 
he was back at his post with lifted baton. The music 
began and we had the dance over again. Then the 
novio led her away and the arc-light could not dissipate 
the gloom that settled upon us. She was our bright, 
particular star and we had lost her! All else seemed 
dross! Until we saw the Sevillana! She had the 
classic profile, the dark tresses, the glorious eyes of the 
Andalusian, and she wore the bewitching headdress of 
creamy lace, fastened with a blood-red rose. . She danced, 
too, with a man. She made me think of the lines which 
I quoted, however imperfectly, for Rafael: — 

When you do dance — 
I wish you a wave of the sea, 
That you ever might do nothing but this. ' 

It is fortunate that it is permissible to admire openly 
in Latin countries. If it were not, life in Mexico would 
not be worth living. 

There was one clique composed entirely of Andalusians, 
and it was surrounded by an appreciative circle that 



266 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

kept increasing, as the night wore on. There was a 
man who played the guitar magnificently, a handsome 
Gitana who sang the songs of Andalusia, and a second 
man who also sang, in the strangest, wheezing, rasping 
voice I ever heard, but as my friends expressed it con 
mucha gracia. Of all the quaint, weird songs, these 
were the quaintest and weirdest. In one, the man sang, 
"The dead-cart just passed by — and there, above the 
shroud, I saw a hand I knew." And the woman, sing- 
ing to her man, " A life with thee is torture — Without 
thee, 'tis not life ! " The people applauded rapturously. 
The songs were half-crooned, half-whined in a complain- 
ing, yet not unmusical tone, and brought a dim, evanes- 
cent impression of ways of living and thinking, unknown 
but fascinating. There was also a torero, who did a 
grotesque dance, going through remarkable contortions 
and making hideous grimaces. Taken in connection 
with the melancholy music, the night, the gaunt shadows 
cast by the trees and the circle of swarthy faces, the per- 
formance was gruesome and made one wonder where 
he really was.1 It created a burning desire to go to 
Andalusia, y 

/ Moreno pintan a Crista: 

Morena a la Magdalena: 
Moreno es el bien que yo adoro: 
Viva la gente morena. 

A man sang this verse, leaning against a tree and gaily 
strumming a guitar. It was a tribute to the brunette 
or swarthy type. The substance of his ditty was that 
both Christ and the Magdalen were pictured as morenos 
(brunes) : that it was the type he most adored, ending 
with " Viva the brown people ! " Another refrain went : 
" Morena — Morena — Morena — tu quitas los rayos 



i 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 269 

del sol ! " In other words, beauteous " morena " dims 
the rays of the sun. 

All the beauty was not Andalusian. The eyes of the 
Mexican women are luminous as the Spanish, languid 
as the Oriental, with the added charm of tristesa, which, 
while purely hereditary and not indicative of character, is 
always interesting. On this occasion, las Mexicanas and 
their escorts contented themselves with promenading, 
waltzing or watching the antics of their livelier Spanish 
cousins, from the veranda of the casino. I presumed the 
Mexican youth was saving his strength and his lungs for 
" Viva Mexico ! " on the night of the wildly inspiring 
" grito" (cry) of independence. 

One of the funniest experiences of the night was a 
talk with two members of the " Artilleria." At the close 
of a number, one of the players turned to me of his own 
accord, showed me the music, which contained the lines 
to Espana and Andalusia, and told me the piece was 
written by a young comrade. I construed it as a simple 
act of Mexican politeness, which I had come to accept 
as a matter of course; but I soon found that he knew 
my country. Another bright chap joined us, telling me 
they had played in Atlanta, St. Louis and Omaha and 
preserved pleasant memories of all. They liked Ameri- 
can ways, and American girls were superlatively beauti- 
ful. The one failing of the latter seemed to be an 
inordinate desire for gold buttons, and the younger lad, 
who was a handsome fellow, said he should take an extra 
gross on his next visit. I asked the boy if he knew 
any English. After a modest disavowal, he finally ad- 
mitted that sometimes, on bestowing buttons, he had 
conversed a little. It was hard work to make him tell 
what he said, but he finally imparted it in strictest con- 
fidence, which I am basely betraying. It was " Miss, 



270 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

give me one kiss, please ? " with the rising inflection on 
the " please." 

As we strolled around for a last look at the Andalusian 
clique, whose fascination there was no resisting, I met a 
Mexican friend who exclaimed enthusiastically, " There 
is a country-woman of yours who is most beautiful," 
raising his hand to his lips in the manner of the country. 
He then took my arm and led me off to see her. When 
we found her she was standing on a chair, a vision of 
white, with a bunch of crimson roses at her throat, 
her fair young face flushed with excitement, as she 
looked on the strange scene. The funny bull-fighter 
was dancing again. He had pulled his hair over his 
eyes and put a handkerchief over his head, with his queer 
little pigtail sticking out at the back. He danced in a 
sitting position, with his body only a few inches above 
the ground, screwing his naturally comical face into 
contortions that convulsed his audience. At the close 
of his performance he said coolly, " I am going to break- 
fast," and took his departure. Rafael now asked if I 
wished to go home and looking at my watch, I saw both 
hands were at twelve. Even then we lingered : guitarras 
were purring, mandolinas tinkling, castanuelas clicking 
gaily, with the monotonous, unending sound of pipe and 
drum, and the orchestras in full swing. On every side, 
as far as we could see, were the trees bright with 
colored lights, and the people dancing beneath them; 
shouts of laughter, men's voices singing with the players, 
and " Ole, con ole, con ole ! " 

On our way home, I thanked Rafael for persuading 
me to stay over for the fiesta, assuring him that I should 
always remember it with satisfaction. He politely ac- 
cepted my thanks, and added that he now hoped I would 
defer my journey until after Mexico's great celebration 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 271 

on the sixteenth of September, which is the anniversary 
of Mexican Independence. He said that it was indis- 
pensable to a proper understanding of the Mexican 
pubHc; and I realized that he was right, for the best 
time to know an individual or a people is undeniably 
the time of relaxation and pleasure. On inquiry I 
learned that the celebration really began the night of 
September fifteenth, when the President rang the historic 
bell and gave the grito or cry of independence from the 
balcony of the National Palace. After this, I was told, 
there were music and fireworks and then people went 
home. At the eleventh hour I was set right, where the 
going home was concerned, by a mysterious communica- 
tion commonly known as a " tip." 

I got the tip straight from Epifanio. Our relations 
had long been confidential, — in fact he was my secretario, 
though no one knew this but him and me. For the 
other boarders he was mozo, and general roustabout 
They called him " Pifa " and " tu." I always addressed 
him as Epifanio. We both felt that nicknames, as ap- 
plied to a private secretary, were trifling and undignified 
— little short of groserias. Epifanio was queer-looking. 
He was short to begin with, and one leg was shorter than 
the other. He had the Indian's brown skin and a shock 
of hair like a doormat ; but his shrewd face and energetic 
manner, above all his volubility, showed that he was 
not all Indian. He first interested me by telling me re- 
markable things about his home which is in the vi- 
cinity of Zacatecas, and making invidious remarks about 
la capital, which he said was ugly. According to 
Epifanio, la capital and his tierra were not to be named 
in the same day. If his accounts of the latter were 
true, it is little short of paradise. If not, he deserves 
the more credit for his inventive genius. 



272 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

Epifanio asked me one day, in a confidential undertone, 
if I had ever heard of a man by the name of Hernan . 
Cortes. He said he was an " individual " who came in 
a ship, quite a long time ago, and made war on the 
Aztecs. Finding that I was deeply interested to hear 
more, he proceeded to give me several verbatim con- 
versations, which took place between Malinche (the 
Indian's name for Cortes) and the Aztec king. I sug- 
gested casually that I had heard the latter's name was 
Cuauhtemoctzin. Epifanio said " may be," — but that he 
was not sure, so we let the matter drop. The main 
point was that Malinche made prisoners of the Indians, 
and treated them cruelly. 

Epifanio added with some pride that there had once 
been a sort of play given in his tierra, depicting scenes 
from the conquest, in which he had assumed the character 
of Malinche. Naturally I wished to hear the verses, and 
after some persuasion, Epifanio took his position in the 
center of my room with a disreputable cap on the back 
of his head, ragged shirt and trousers that seemed strug- 
gling to part company, and wrecks of shoes, from which 
protruded numerous soiled toes ; and in his decidedly 
musical voice, accompanied by furtive whiffs of mescal, 
recited a descriptive poem of the dream and vision of 
the princess Papantzin, in which she saw the white chief 
coming with his legions across the waters to take the 
realm and crown of her brother Montezuma and make 
him and his people the vassals of a strange king. The 
recital was attended with many graceful and expressive 
gestures, and much flourishing of a very greasy rag, 
which Epifanio employed ostensibly for cleaning pur- 
poses. 

I expressed my appreciation of the performance in 
feeling terms, and at dinner he smuggled me a double 




1^ 




THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 275 

portion of dulce in token of his esteem. That was the 
beginning of our intimacy. It was cemented by my tak- 
ing his photograph. He made the request one morning, 
when he was looking more disreputable than usual, if 
such a thing were possible. He said his wife and chil- 
dren were still in the Zacatecas country, and he wished 
to send them a portrait. This gave me an inspiration, 
and, getting my kodak, I snapped him on the spot. 
Epifanio objected strongly: he wanted to change his 
attire, but I told him this preliminary shot was merely 
for practice. He then disappeared, and after some time 
presented himself in such gorgeous apparel, that I felt 
sure even his wife would not recognize him. He made 
a superb picture, however, and one was duly despatched 
in care of a certain comadre who was returning to his 
tierra. At the same time I have one taken au natural, 
which Epifanio has never seen and which I am sure he 
would not approve of. But to return to the tip. I re- 
ceived it on the day of the grito (September fifteenth) 
and this is what it was. Epifanio said the upper class 
labored under the delusion that the fun ended with the 
grito : that all that followed consisted in drunkards tramp- 
ing and yelling through the street. He said that this was 
all a mistake and added mysteriously that the actual 
gaiety did n't begin until the strangers and sightseers had 
gone home. 

The more I thought of Epifanio 's statement, the 
greater became my curiosity. On this one night the 
peones are said to have license to do practically as they 
choose. They have certainly plenty to drink and alcohol 
brings out the worst side of a people. I wanted to see 
what that side was like. After one turn with a friend 
on San Francisco street, which was truly pandemonium, 
I went home and stayed until I felt satisfied the " gente 



276 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

decente " had sought their houses. I then put on a thick 
coat and sallied forth. I had always liked Mexico's work- 
ing classes, but what I saw from that time on till morn- 
ing, " when the people were allowed to do as they 
pleased," made me like them more than ever. 

It was two o'clock and a street dance was under way 
at the great arch at the head of Plateros. An obliging 
organ-grinder furnished the music and when he was 
tired the dancers took turns in grinding. Decent look- 
ing lads of the pueblo were waltzing with buxom maids : 
schoolboys with their arms about each other, were 
whirling like tops, and small, dirty ragamuffins were 
gliding, two and two, with a grace they must have im- 
bibed with their mother's milk. Heaven alone knows 
how or where those imps learned to waltz, but waltz 
they did, with the swaying, undulating motion seen on 
the zarsiiela stage. 

In front of the portales and cathedral and surround- 
ing the plaza, were the street kitchens with their flaring 
lights, surrounded by hungry revelers, attracted by 
savory but greasy odors. The prudent bodies were al- 
ready flocking like chickens to their sleeping-places under 
the portales. There they huddled, five and six deep, 
all along the line, in front of the shops. I asked a com- 
fortable looking ranchero, who with me was watching 
the small dancing dervishes, when and where the crea- 
tures would sleep. " Sleep ! " he chuckled, " Daybreak 
will find them dancing in the streets ! " 

At this point, the ballroom was thrown into confusion 
by the appearance of a big-headed man who rushed in 
among th.e dancers and began delivering an oration. 
The delighted crowd closed in on him yelling " Viva 
Mexico ! " They swept him off his feet and lifted him on 
their shoulders, where he kept on declaiming and wildly 




Approach to Paseo de la Reforma, Mexico City 




Street kitchens 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 279 

waving hat and cane until gendarmes came running up 
and rescued him from his excited admirers. 

On with the dance! The organ-grinder, who was try- 
ing to make his escape, was promptly rounded up : some 
one volunteered to grind and the ball proceeded. At 
my side a disheveled but cheerful female was reminding 
an older one how she danced a year ago. She com- 
menced singing in a cracked voice and executed a few 
steps of el jarabe. What a miracle ! A woman without 
a partner contentedly watching the sport of others and 
cheerful in remembering her own triumphs of last year ! 

Throughout the square the people were assembled in 
groups, each with its cluster of star performers. Music 
was always the attraction. Instruments and voices were 
often out of tune: a fine drizzle was falling and when 
there was an umbrella in the crowd it was held over the 
performers : but the audience was a grateful one and 
the singer seemed perfectly happy. 

A man sat on a bench before the cathedral, strumming 
a guitar for the entertainment of a small circle. Two 
girls in black shawls came along unattended. They 
stopped before the player and one asked, " Would you 
like me to sing ? " " Why not ! " said the man. With- 
out more ado she began singing, the man following her 
with his guitar. A girl of the street ! Perhaps ! This 
was what she sang: 

Es el amor un sentimiento puro, 
Que divinisa al alma y enoblece: 
Es una Aor que nace y solo crece. 
En el arhol feras del corason. 
El corason es el jardin del alma; 
Mas con llanto riega su recreo; 
Cada lagrima ardiente es un deseo. 
Que fecundisa este arhol del amor. 



28o THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

Love is a passion pure, 
That blesses, ennobles the soul : 
A flower that buds and blooms only 
On the fruitful tree of the heart. 
The heart is the garden of the soul, 
Its blossoms are watered with tears: 
Each passionate tear is a prayer, 
That nurtures this tree of thy love; 

On the plaza a crowd had gathered about a man who 
played the guitar superbly. He was a full-blooded In- 
dian in white cotton clothing and sandals, and a master 
of his instrument — by far the best guitar player I had 
heard in the republic. If a fine face and dignified 
manner mean anything, the fellow had good blood in 
him, though he was a peon. I had seen more' than one 
such in my wanderings, and I always said to myself, 
" Ah ha ! here is a strain of Aztec blue-blood ! " It had 
to go somewhere. It was not all spilled nor was it all 
merged into that of the conquering race. At the con- 
clusion of a weird melody, a fair-skinned young fellow 
in eye-glasses, evidently a student, pushed his way 
through the crowd and ofifered to sing. The Indian 
bowed gravely and the lad struck at once into a gay 
danza. He had a sweet, clear tenor and seemed to feel 
sure of his accompanist. I doubt if the Indian had ever 
heard the song before, yet he played it delightfully, with 
that wonderful running melody in the bass, which is the 
acme of good guitar playing. The crowd applauded 
and an inebriated individual demanded, " Otra — otra ! " 
" Take a seat," besought his female companion. The 
individiial, who was quite unsteady, sank into a seat 
murmuring, " Music always enchants me ! " The lad, 
gratified at his success, sang another and the Indian 
played it as perfectly as the first. It was natural and 



THE MAN WHO UKES MEXICO 281 

refreshing. The boy had a good voice and loved to sing, 
the Indian played the guitar as few can and doubtless 
knew it. The boy's face showed plainly his gratification 
but the Indian made no sign. 

It is interesting to note that Mexico's songs, even of 
the pueblo, have almost always a pure, often a beautiful 
sentiment. More, the people care quite as much for 
the verse as for the music. The country people have 
a sort of comic song called a ranchera, which is as popu- 
lar there as are the negro songs in the North. 

Four inebriates with their arms around each other, 
leaned up against a fountain basin, empty bottles in 
hand, and sang to a cross-looking female, who seemed 
trying to get them to go home. At first I could n't 
make out a word, but they liked the song, and no sooner 
was it ended, than they started it over again. At last I 
gathered the following: 

' Marchita el alma, muerto el sentimiento, 
Miistia la fas, helado el coracon; 
Vagando siempre por cainino incierto. 
Sin la esperanza — sin la es per ansa — 
De alcansar tu amor. 

Yo guise hablarte, y decirte miicho — mucho — 
Y al intentarlo, mi labio enmudecio. 
Nada te dije porque nada pude, 
Pues era de otro ya — pues era de otro ya — tu 
corasdn. 

Withered the soul — dead the sentiment — 
Sad the face — frozen the heart — 
Wandering always in uncertain paths, 

Without the hope of gaining thy love, 
I wished to speak with thee — 

To tell thee much — much — 
And in trying my lips were frozen : • 

I told thee nothing, for I could not, 
It was another's already thy heart. 



282 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

This was enough to melt any heart, but it seemed to 
have an irritating effect on the woman. Perhaps she 
did n't care for music ! I was wondering which one of 
the four was the possessor of her affections, when she 
suddenly made a vicious grab for one of her wooers and 
with a few vigorous cuffs, started him off ahead of her. 
Evidently he was the lucky man. The others trailed 
along in the rear, " wandering always in uncertain paths." 

All this time it was drizzling intermittently, yet every 
seat on the plaza was full. What impressed me was the 
universal good nature. I saw but one fight. It was 
between a coffee vender and a patron who paid a centavo 
for a cup of coffee, and then tried to make away with 
the cup. The owner called him a sinverguenza (without 
shame) and drew his knife, but his wife threw herself 
into the breach exclaiming, "Que hacesf" ("What are 
you doing?"") and at this juncture the gendarmes ar- 
rived and carried off the cup-grabber. At the corner, 
however, they let him go, nor was this the only case of 
leniency I witnessed. A decent-looking young peon 
was arrested on the complaint of a girl of the middle 
lower-class, who claimed he had robbed her of a neck- 
lace of glass beads, breaking the string and snatching 
them from behind. The peon swore he was innocent, 
told where he worked, produced a huge key to prove 
that he had a roof to sleep under and declared that his 
wife was seated over there, under the portales, and that 
it was not convenient to leave her alone in such a crowd. 
I was for letting him go and I think the gendarme was ; 
but the girl, while she did n't seem at all certain he was 
the man, insisted on his being taken to the station. 
" Bueno ! " said the peon, and then performed a strategic 
master-stroke that gained him his freedom. Taking off 
his hat, he besought the girl to go and fetch his wife. 




National palace, Mexico City 




Jockey Club, Mexico City, during flower carnival 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 285 

that he might give her the key to their tenement. His 
accuser hesitated. 

" Poor thing ! " said her companion. " Let us go ! " 

"Where?" asked the girl. 

" Just there, under the portales," said the peon. With 
a bewildered look the girl started on her hopeless quest, 
prompted by sympathy for the luckless wife. The crowd 
surged in between. The gendarme relaxed his hold a 
bit, and his attention seemed drawn in another direction. 
The next minute the peon was gone. 

" I could not find her," said the girl, returning in dis- 
gust. " Where is that man ! " 

" He escaped," said the gendarme. 

At four A. M. it was still raining and the people were 
still dancing. The streets were covered with sticky 
slime an inch deep, but this did n't affect bare feet. The 
latter suffered more or less from broken glass, however. 
I saw a boy contentedly grinning at the dancers, while 
he held up one foot from which had dripped a small 
pool of blood. " A broken bottle, sefior ! " He seemed 
quite indifferent and I concluded sympathy was not in 
order. His complete disregard of the hurt struck me 
as a species of mind-cure. Peones' feet must have re- 
markably tough soles! In the circle about the band- 
stand another dance was under way, and the participants 
were nearly all barefooted; yet they danced furiously 
on the uneven and quite rocky ground and every time 
the organ-grinder tried to get away they surrounded 
him and pleaded for " just one more." His music, like 
all the rest, was a free contribution to the fiesta; and it 
showed a generous spirit in all those of his calling who 
carried their heavy instruments from place to place, and 
supplied dance-music free of charge. 

I was still more impressed when a company of musi- 
H 



286 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

cians, members of a stringed orchestra returning from 
a ball probably, stopped in crossing the plaza, tuned their 
instruments as well as they could in the rain, and played 
the bewitching music of " Los Cocineros " for their 
offering. I imagine these bands gain a precarious 
livelihood. The members of this one were thinly clad 
for such weather and there was not a whole pair of shoes 
among them. They could n't have felt much like play- 
ing but they wanted to do their part. " Vivan los 
musicos ! " shouted the crowd, " Otra ! Otra ! Vivan los 
musicos ! " 

At jEive o'clock the street kitchens were doing a thriv- 
ing business. The more prosperous ones had canvas 
awnings and were provided with tables and wooden 
benches: but there were scores of Indian women out in 
the open, crouching on the wet cobblestones, before 
their small charcoal pots, cooking for clamorous multi- 
tudes. Everything seemed to be frying and the damp 
morning air was heavy with the fumes of sizzling fat. 
Music was still in demand and every kitchen had one or 
more obliging artists. Among them was a brawny 
cargador, who whistled through his fingers like a steam 
calliope, to the intense delight of a large audience. Most 
of these people had not slept a wink, yet all were emi- 
nently cheerful. A small proportion only showed the 
effects of over-imbibing. We are apt to be more im- 
pressed, however, by these, than by the masses of well- 
behaved people. The morning broke gray and dismal, 
and I began to have visions of a more comfortable place 
than the Plaza Mayor. Many others seemed of the 
same mind and were departing in groups to their homes 
in the suburbs. Nearly all were singing. As I passed 
the portales I took a last look at the sleeping multitude. 
I am sure there was not room for even one more. A 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 287 

few of the vivacious ones were exchanging cigarros and 
gossip, but most of them were sleeping, some full-length 
on the hard pavement, others in a sitting posture, with 
their heads bowed between their knees, or with the 
shoulder of a friend for a pillow; the patient Mexican 
pueblo, which had been granted license for twelve 
hours, and took it out in singing, dancing and shouting, 
" Viva Mexico ! " 



CHAPTER X'l 

Anticipation: Pleasures of Mexico City: Second Visit to Du- 
rango : Over the Mountains With Manuel : A Rainy Day : 
The Voices of the Sea : Don Lucio : Snow, Sunshine and a 
Camp under the Pines : A Lonely Maid : Manuel's Diplomacy : 
Snow in the Mountains : Oranges Keep Cold : The Ideal 
Camp. 

I HAD communicated my plan to revisit the mines to 
Don Alfredo and Dona Marciana, and had received 
from them a behest to rejoin them as soon as con- 
venient, and an admonition to make the journey over the 
Durango mountains before the beginning of the winter 
rains. I had set my heart on passing the Christmas holi- 
days at the mines ; but it was still September, and with 
the holiday prospect in view, I lingered on in Mexico, 
enjoying the pleasures of the capital city. 

_^November was already far advanced when I began to 
take seriously Don Alfredo's admonition to cross the 
mountains before the rains set in. I knew they were due 
any time in December, and I decided to start at once. 
I packed one of my horsehide trunks, wrote and posted 
a few home letters, passed the last afternoon in leave- 
takings, and in the early morning took train for Durango. 

For me Durango will always be associated with the 
charm of surprise. From it I had my first revelation as 
to Mexico's cities. I learned then that it was one of 
the most primitive, or rather conservative, of all the 
cities. It was Semana Santa and the place was given 
over to the accustomed rites, which were attended with 

288 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 289 

much more austerity than in the capital; the penitential 
season being followed by a bull-fight, my first spectacle- 
of los toros. I don't rail against bull-fights. I know 
centuries of custom are a powerful factor, not to be 
treated lightly. I simply keep away from them. The 
nearest approach to trouble I ever saw in the casa de 
huespedes where I lived in Mexico, was the result of 
my expressing my feelings on the subject, one day, when 
there were about thirty young Mexicans, with a sprinkling 
of Spaniards and Cubans in the dining-room. About 
half of them sided with me and the battle waged hot 
and heavy. They talked so fast, I could n't understand 
a word and I was relieved when there was a slight lull, 
resulting from lack of breath on the part of the com- 
batants, and I was enabled to interpose a diversion in the 
shape of a gringo blunder regarding the sport, which 
raised a laugh. 

When I was in Durango before, the beautiful plaza 
was ablaze with yellow roses and the seats all filled, at 
every hour in the day, with the people, mostly of the 
working class. There were few foreigners in evidence. 
Now I noticed a marked decrease in the peones and a 
corresponding increase in foreigners. I even saw some 
fair young country-women of mine sitting on the plaza 
reading, and the sight gladdened my eyes. Durango 
is the center of the mining district and the mine owners 
congregate there, along with a miscellaneous assortment 
of men who have been working in the mines and are 
waiting to go out ; and of others who are seeking work 
and are waiting to go in. 

Durango is a busy place, although one would not think 
so at first sight. The busy scenes are within the patios 
of the immense supply houses, where mozos are busy 
from morning till night, nailing and sewing up stores 



290 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

for the various mining haciendas. Occasionally you will 
see a freighter with anywhere from fifty to eighty pack- 
mules, preparing for his long trip into the mountains. 
After much tugging and cinching on the part of the men, 
and much bucking and shying on the part of the mules, 
each beast is finally loaded with a pack weighing from 
eight to twelve arrobas (two hundred to three hundred 
pounds) and the long train winds out of the city and 
up the mountain, to begin a journey of two weeks or 
more. Twice I had been there in April, and found it 
ideal spring weather ; and now in these first December 
days, the mornings and nights were like those of a sharp. 
Northern fall, with a midday like Indian summer. 

The men of Durango, particularly of the working 
class, seem larger and of a more vigorous type than in 
the Southern cities. There is much beauty among the 
women, also of rather a distinctive order; in fact one 
could almost tell a Durango woman of the middle class, 
from a certain similarity of expression and the slow but 
musical, drawling accent. The cargadores who are 
always most prominent among the workers of a city 
are a brawny, stalwart set, eminently clean and decent 
in appearance. They nearly all wear heavy blue overalls 
and jumpers, with thick shoes and a shaggy, white felt 
hat which seems their special badge. Indeed, all the 
common people impressed me as a superior set, and a 
young man, a native of the capital, remarked the same 
thing in most forceful terms. In journeying towards 
the north, I missed more and more the cry of the street 
vender. 

I made an early visit to my favorite Banos de las 
Canoas and had rather an extended talk with the owner, 
who treated me as an old and valued customer. I asked 
him if he was of Durango and he said he was not; but 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 291 

tliat he had lived there forty years and felt he might 
reasonably claim it as his home. I asked him where 
his tierra was and after some meditation, he said that 
he grew up in San Luis, but that he was born at sea. 
His father was bringing his young mother from Spain 
and she died in giving him birth. This seemed to me 
very sad and I said as much. He meditated again and 
responded, " Well, yes," in a deprecatory tone, as though 
it had never occurred to him in that light. When he 
first came to Durango the chaparral covered the spot 
where the depot now stands. He approved of railroads 
and prophesied that when the lines were completed there 
would be an opening up of new mining properties that 
would astonish the natives. He assured me that Durango 
was very ancient : that it began as a rancho, followed 
by a hacienda and then the city : and that Torreon was 
nothing more than a cluster of huts forty years before. 

Durango's cathedral is over three centuries old. The 
altars were originally of wood, but were renewed by the 
wealthy mine-owner, Zambrano, who was once propri- 
etor of the famous " Mina Candelaria," now the prop- 
erty of a California company. Zambrano built a mag- 
nificent house in Durango, which is now a government 
building, and a theater for his own entertainment. It 
is said that on the occasion of a grand banquet and ball, 
he caused the patio of his house to be entirely relaid 
with silver bricks. The descendants of this mining prince 
reside in Spain. 

Crossing the plaza one evening, I encountered an unex- 
pected treat in the form of a serenata, by a fine string 
band. I was informed that it was a testimonial from 
some enamored swain to his sweetheart, and as a number 
of dark-eyed beauties were promenading, I speculated a 
good deal as to which might be the favored one. Sev- 



292 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

eral young caballeros were seated in the shade of a rose 
arbor and I singled out one, who muffled his chin in 
his cape with unusual mystery, as probably being the 
lover. There was a fine band concert on Sunday night, 
and the manner of the paseo was the same as in other 
cities, the ladies walking together and the men in the 
opposite direction.- I saw many lovely faces and many 
of the girls were without hats, though millinery was 
also affected by the upper class. 

I had a great deal on my mind while I was in Durango 
— mountains in fact. Ever since I had looked on them, 
towering in the distance, they had seemed to say, 
" Come ! " Among innumerable other things had been 
saddle horses, pack-mules and mozos, I presume I tried 
every horse for sale, within a radius of twenty kilometers ; 
and every one had something the matter. If his wind 
was n't broken, he had a sore back, or was bad about 
the head and would n't take the bit. As soon as I found 
a horse that I felt a liking for, all the gentlemen at the 
hotel, horsemen every one of thern, began telling me 
his bad points, and before they had finished I wouldn't 
have had him for a gift. It is no fun at this season, 
when the night winds are -cold and snow may fall any 
time, to be caught in the mountains with a leg-weary 
horse, and have to dismount and drag him up the trail. 
So I decided to take a mule. A mule may be joggy but 
she always gets there. Manuel, my mozo, advised this 
from the start, and now that I acted on his advice, he 
was delighted. Manuel's chief anxiety seemed to relate 
to the cocina (kitchen) as he called our box of provisions. 
He suggested gordas and tamales, to which I acceded; 
and shortly after, he appeared with two women, each 
laden with immense baskets, one of which was filled 
with gordas and the other literally running over with 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 293 

tamales. I tried one and found it good and Manuel 
said when they were hot they were much better. I 
asked him rather doubtfully if he thought we could eat 
all the gordas, — they looked enough for a regiment, — but 
Manuel said when he was on the trail, he could himself 
eat an ahniid of corn a day. He was a sturdy, lusty 
chap, light on his feet, and I fancied would be a good 
hand to keep the fire going at night and look out for 
the animals. He had a jolly face and I doubted not 
could sing. I like a singing mozo. When you are riding 
five days at a stretch with no other companion, it helps 
out amazingly. 

On the night before our departure I experienced that 
sense of peace and contentment I had felt before, on the 
eve of a mountain journey. Now but a few hours inter- 
vened between me and the mountains, with their rugged 
heights ; the dim woods and the silent places ; sleeping 
under the stars by the camp-fire, and up and away at 
the crack of dawn. Long I gazed on them from the 
corridor of the hotel. A warm wind was blowing straight 
from the hills, and I fancied it brought the smell of pine 
woods and the chaparral. Manuel came to inquire at 
what time we should start, and signified his readiness 
to be on hand with the mules at 4 a. m. We compro- 
mised on six o'clock. The one thing I did not like was 
the sound of Alanuel's feet on the stone floor of the 
corridor, as he came to bring some oranges I had sent 
him for. There was a halting, disconnected sort of 
flap to his sandals that made me look to see what was 
up; and I found he was stepping high and putting his 
feet down carefully, as though he were treading on 
eggs. Besides there was a fixed glare in his eye, that 
showed things had begun to go round, and that he found 
his only safety in putting his gaze on one object and 



294 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

holding it there. I told him to call me at five o'clock 
sharp and that we would start at six ; and then sent him 
away with some misgivings as to whether he would 
show up at all or not; but at five o'clock, while it was 
still pitch dark, there came a rap on my door and, " Here 
I am, senor ! " Manuel had slept off his slight indisposi- 
tion and was ready for business. From that time to the 
end of our journey he refused even a small capita, though 
I knew he was often tired and cold. He always said, 
" I don't know how to drink." I am convinced this was 
true and that one social cup with a friend the last night 
had gone to his feet. 

When Manuel was roping the cargo on the mules I 
saw him give a short, searching glance at the sky. 
I noticed that it was rather leaden, but thought the sun 
would remedy that. I got on my mule and Manuel came 
and fixed the rosaderas, two long strips of bear-skin 
which hung from the pommel, covering my legs and feet 
and fastening back of the saddle. I felt like an infant 
being tied into a perambulator and the things struck me 
as absurd, but I was glad enough to have them ere the 
day was over. Before we got outside the city, a light, 
drizzling rain began falling; but I relied on the sunrise 
to set all right. The morning broke, cold and dismal, 
and the drizzle increased. Manuel said it would be worse 
in the mountains. The weather was not without its 
compensation, as the dampness brought out all the aro- 
matic odors of grass and shrubs, making me breathe 
longer and deeper than I had for months. This action 
seems involuntary, as though the lungs had been craving 
sweet, pure air and were greedy to get their fill of it. 

As we turned a bend in the trail, we came upon a 
young girl sitting on the ground, laughing at the top 
of her voice; while a peon and an older woman were 



, THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 295 

busily picking up some loose corn they had evidently 
upset. The girl called out, " Adios, seiior ! " and then 
"Where are you going?" I told her, at which she 
shouted, "Won't you take me?" "Yes! Why not? 
Come on ! " I replied. At this she began screaming and 
laughing again and I heard her long after she was out 
of sight. By this time the drizzle had turned into a 
cold, soaking rain which was directly in our faces. The 
two women we had just passed were riding burros, and 
with no covering save their thin, cotton dresses, and 
pieces of white stuff that looked like coarse bagging. 
The peon was on foot, and they were bound for La 
Mina Trinidad, a good five days' journey, Manuel said. 
As we crossed the first ridge, the rain and wind in- 
creased and there came a dull, sullen roar from the 
mountains. I looked at Manuel and asked what it was. 
There was a scared look on his face as he answered 
that it was the sea. He said it was muy malo (very 
bad), that it meant bad weather, with much rain and 
snow. It seemed incredible that it could really be the 
roar of the ocean, so far inland; but I have no other 
theory to offer, as it was neither thunder nor wind. 
We heard it several times and it sounded dreary enough. 
The only other human beings we saw were a peon and 
his woman, the latter mounted on a little burro which 
the peon was hurrying cityward; and a woman driving 
several animals loaded with firewood, which she had 
undoubtedly cut herself, as the ax was lashed to one 
of the cargoes. She was thinly clad and her bare feet 
projected from her ragged shoes as she trudged along 
in the storm. At two o'clock we reached the rancho, 
San Jose, an ordinary ride of three hours which had 
taken us seven; and as the rain showed no sign of hold- 
ing up, I decided to stay there for the night. There was 



296 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

no other house we could possibly make and Don Lucio, 
the caporal, kindly opened a room in the owner's cot- 
tage, where I could be very comfortable. While Manuel 
made a fire before the door and got dinner, Don Lucio 
came in and sat with me. He was a short, fat, little 
man, about fifty years old, in a leather charro suit and 
a big hat. He had never been farther than the city 
of Durango in his life; and he combined the native dig- 
nity and courtesy of his race with the simplicity of a child. 
He inquired ingenuously if I had a traguito (a little 
drink) and some cigarros; and these being forthcoming, 
he seated himself on my trunk and relapsed into mute 
admiration for my various belongings, broken only when 
something elicited a "Que bonito!" (How fine!) or a 
"Que chistoso!" (How funny!) Don Lucio admired 
my blankets, doted on my revolver and chuckled over 
my woolen gloves, which he said were very big and hairy 
like bear's paws. Don Lucio's delight was so spontane- 
ous I did n't even trouble to say, " At your orders." 
He did n't want my gloves, I had n't the least idea of 
giving them to him, and I considered idle compliments 
a waste of breath. 

Don Lucio stayed to dinner and he also dropped around 
for supper. After the latter feast, he braced himself, 
cleared his throat and said he wished with my permis- 
sion, to ask me something. I supposed it would be, at 
the very least, a request for a donation of coffee, which, 
in the mountains, is valued above almost any other 
beverage, unless it be tequila. Now hear how I mis- 
judged Don Lucio! He gazed at me earnestly for a 
moment and then asked if I had ever seen a people 
called the Chinese. I said that I had. He eyed me 
again as though making sure that I was telling him the 
truth and then went on. He had heard there was an- 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 297 

other people uglier still than the Chinese and black — 
black, who wore little or no clothing and were bought 
and sold like beasts, and he wanted to know if it was 
true. I felt that I was on my honor and returned Don 
Lucio's gaze as steadfastly as the occasion would permit, 
as I replied that there was such a people, that they were 
still bought and sold in some countries and that in their 
own tierra they wore no clothes at all. Don Lucio drew 
his zarape about him with an air of offended modesty 
and asked if their tierra was near there. In vain I cast 
about for some means of enlightening Don Lucio as to 
the dark continent. I started to compare it with South 
America, but found that would n't go. Then I told him 
it was many times larger than Mexico but Don Lucio 
only stared. At last I told him it was a big country 
over the sea and we let it go at that. 

When Don Lucio told me he had never seen the 
President's portrait and asked me if he was fine looking, 
I felt that my duty was plain. I had a portrait of Pres- 
ident Diaz in my trunk, and I soon had the ropes untied 
and Don Lucio was gazing in rapture on the face of 
his President. He exclaimed, " How tall ! How pow- 
erful ! " admired each individual medal on the front of 
the General's uniform and added solemnly, " It is he 
who commands everything." The chickens were going 
to roost on the trees near the door and Don Lucio said, 
" May you pass a good night ! " and retired, literally 
too full for further utterance. 

" Early to bed and early to rise " is a safe motto for 
mountain travel. While Don Lucio was admiring the 
photograph, Manuel had made my bed, which he an- 
nounced was ready and requested me to lie down say- 
ing, " I will cover you up afterwards, senor." I started 
to draw off my boots but Manuel flew at me and had 



298 ^HE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

them off in a jiffy. He then proceeded to cover me up 
with two blankets and two zarapes each of which he 
laid on separately, tucking them well about me. It was 
quite different from having all put on together. Each 
one seemed to strike some particular spot, where it was 
most needed. Seeing him preparing to go to bed on 
the floor at my feet, I asked him why he did n't take the 
other cot; but he said he preferred the ground. I must 
have slept an hour when I heard a hammering on the 
door and a voice shouting, "Manuel! Here I bring a 
bed ! " Manuel only grunted. I managed to strike a 
match, and in staggered Don Lucio, with a mattress, 
sheets and pillows. The rain had stopped and the kind- 
hearted fellow had brought me the best he had. I was 
so heavy with sleep I began thanking him in English. 
Of course I had to get up and have my bed made over. 
I was quite reluctant at the time, but was glad enough be- 
fore morning, as it grew very cold. 

When I awoke it was four o'clock. Manuel had started 
the fire and gone after the mules. It was still pitch dark 
when he returned with them, gave them their corn and 
commenced getting breakfast. Don Lucio soon ap- 
peared and prophesied a good day, which was encourag- 
ing. The animals were loaded up by the light from the 
fire and with the first streaks of day, we were ready to 
start. Don Lucio requested a mananita (morning 
draught), and wished me felicidades as he drained the 
cup, assuring me that in him I had a friend. This I 
knew was so : that in future, whenever I passed that way, 
Don Lucio was good for a roof and a bed. Of course 
he expected some small favors in return, but they were 
as nothing compared with benefits received. In fact, I 
find the rule of the world is give and take; and Don 
Lucio's demands were modest ones. As he shook my 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 299 

hand he said, " Alay God aid you in your journey," and 
with this kindly farewell we rode away. It was nipping 
cold, and I could hear the mules' feet break the ice in 
the little puddles that had formed in the trail. When 
at last the sun rose, I saw everything coated with frost. 
The tall, dry grass on either side of the trail seemed 
tipped with red, blue and yellow diamonds: every tree 
had a glittering mantle, and the blackened stumps were 
set with brilliants. We were ascending the mountain, 
and the valley back of us presented a beautiful sight. 
The mist lay close to the earth, a deep, intense blue : 
higher up, where the sun touched it, there was a bank 
of white fleecy cloud; and above that, the pine-clad 
mountain. Half way up the mountain we came to a lit- 
tle pool, close to the trail and quite frozen over. The 
first mule broke the ice with her nose and all the animals 
drank from the same hole. Gradually as the sun got 
higher, I began shedding coats and sweater ; and by noon 
it was delightfully warm. We stopped for dinner near 
a little stream, and while Manuel was cooking I took 
a snap-shot at him. He had tied a red handkerchief 
over his head for the cold and had worn it all day. 
Manuel took the kodak as a matter of course. He said 
all the senores Americanos have mdquinas (machines) 
and photograph their mozos cooking, walking and on 
horseback. While talking about the various Americanos 
he had traveled with, he cut a bad gash in his thumb with 
a beef tin he was opening, but he only took a pinch of 
earth and clapped it on the wound, refusing all offers to 
have it tied up. When we started again and I made for 
the trail, Manuel pointed ofif across the fields and gave 
me a palo seco (dry tree) to steer for. On reaching it, 
I saw the trail again ; he assured me we had saved a good 
hour. Manuel was famous for short cuts and he con- 



300 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

tinually left the beaten path for some special byway of 
his own. He said he grew up " walking in the moun- 
tains " and when I asked him how many times he had 
crossed them, he said, " quien sabe ? " but he thought 
more than a hundred. When he was with the freighters, 
he wore sandals and walked all the way. But now that 
he was mozo he had shoes, though his sandals were tied 
on the back of his saddle; I presumed for the home 
trip. 

He told me of a very important mission he went on 
once, when he was only fifteen years old. A rich man 
in Durango sent him to Mazatlan, with a belt filled with 
gold onsas: he did n't know how many, but it was heavy 
and he got very tired of wearing it next his skin, night 
and day. Besides he had mucho miedo (much fear). 
He bought his tortillas and beans at the ranchos in the 
daytime and took care to sleep in the open, where he was 
quite alone. When people asked why he hurried so, he 
said, " My father is dying in Mazatlan." He delivered 
his charge in safety, was given important papers and 
told to hurry back. He returned by another road and 
when the people, still curious, asked, " Why so fast ? " he 
replied, " My father is dying in Durango." 

We went into camp early the second night, after riding 
about ten hours. Manuel said it was too cold to sleep on 
the ground, and as we reached a rancho' about sundown, 
I thought best to stay there. There was plenty of water, 
but no grazing for the animals, and I paid fifty cents 
each for small bunches of hoja (dried corn stalks). 
When I rode up to the hacienda, which was a forlorn 
barracks of a place, a girl was in the corral feeding 
chickens. I asked if I could have a room for the night 
and at first she said no; but finally pointed to a sort of 
shed, which she said was very dirty, but was at my 



\ 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 303 

disposal if I cared to sleep there. Manuel had the packs 
off the animals at short order and began cleaning out 
the shed. The girl came and looked on, and, though 
shy, she could not seem to tear herself away from the 
sound of human voices. It seemed unusual to find a 
young girl quite alone in such a place; but her replies 
to my inquiries were evasive. The caporal and serv- 
ants of the rancho had their huts at some distance from 
the main buildings ; and not one of them paid her the 
slightest attention. I asked if she was not very lonely 
and she said yes ; but that she was fond of animals and 
that she amused herself during the day, caring for the 
chickens and pigs; at night, a little girl from the serv- 
ants' quarters came to stay with her, but she had not 
seen her all day. Quien sabe ! Perhaps she was sick. 
I bought some eggs of her and gave her some tamales ; 
and as she still hovered about our fire, asked her to eat 
supper with us. She accepted with alacrity, saying she 
had no fire herself; that the kitchen was full of pigs. 
There were several new families of young pigs, it seemed, 
and, fearing a storm, she had shut them all in the 
kitchen. She immediately began helping Manuel get 
supper, and fried the eggs in a deft fashion that made 
him open his eyes. Manuel fried an egg all right on one 
side; then he attempted to flap It over and the result 
was a strange mess, between a scramble and an omelette. 
She turned them as lightly as she would a feather, and 
transferred them to my plate, not overdone, but just 
right and good enough -to eat. Then she brought from 
the house some little fried corn cakes, like diminutive 
doughnuts, which she warmed and presented to me. I 
was sure they were all she had to eat on the ranchO' ex- 
cept eggs. She refused to taste a morsel till I had 
finished, but flitted about, bringing me hot coffee and 



304 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

more corn cakes, and keeping up a constant prattle, like 
a child who has been lonesome and is bubbling over with 
delight at finding companions. At last she bade me 
good night and promised to be up to help the mozo get 
breakfast, and to bring more corn cakes. She was a 
slip of a thing, certainly not over sixteen, untidy and 
wretched looking, but with a bright, honest face, and a 
kind, womanly heart. 

The sky was clear and bright with stars, and I could 
hear the mules munching their feed in the corral and 
the blazing fire was pleasant ; but Manuel, who was wait- 
ing to take my boots off, said, " It is time now to sleep," 
and I obeyed ! He had fixed one blanket to his satisfac- 
tion and was putting on the second, when we heard wild 
yells and the gallop of horses' feet. The next moment 
there came a great banging on the door and a voice shout- 
ing, " Open the door." 

" I go immediately," answered Manuel, " I am occu- 
pied at this moment." Then he put his finger to his lips 
for me to remain silent, and went on tucking in the 
blankets. The man kept on banging and yelling for ad- 
mittance and Manuel kept saying, " Immediately, imme- 
diately ! " At last he went and unbarred the door and 
said, " Walk in." Thinking that he knew what he was 
about, I adopted the role of the Gringo who does not 
speak the language and lay staring fixedly at them. The 
fire-light made the room as bright as day. There were 
three men in the party, and the spokesman was quite 
drunk ; but the others seemed steady enough. 

" You come out," they said to Manuel, and, as he hesi- 
tated they added, " You 're afraid." 

" Not at all," said Manuel. " But I have no shoes on : 
to tell you the truth, I was just going to bed." 

" Who is your patron? " they asked. 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 305 

" He is a senor Americano and we are going to San 
Dimas," answered Manuel, adding, " and he is very 
tired. But walk in." 

" No," said the men. " You put on your shoes and 
come with us. We have plenty of mescal." 

Then Manuel proved himself a diplomat of the first 
order. Oh, that he were free to join them ! He did 
so like a paseo with good companions. But he was with 
his patron and of course could not leave him. Some 
other time he should be only too happy. These honeyed 
words did their work. The bottle was passed and 
Manuel apparently drank long and deep. Then he stood 
in the piercing cold, in shirt and trousers only, bare- 
footed and without a hat, bowing and saluting with true 
Mexican grace, till they finally got into their saddles 
and rode away. Manuel closed the door softly and 
barred it with extra precaution. Then he began choking 
and spitting on the floor. "How bad is this mescal!" 
he said. Then he proceeded to muffle his head in his 
blanket, and, leaving his feet to take care of themselves, 
went to sleep without more ado. 

I was awakened by a rat who was making his break- 
fast off one of my boots. It was four o'clock and I 
called Manuel. There was a thick fog and it was dark 
as midnight. I always felt rather sorry for him when 
he started off at this hour, it was so intensely cold; 
but he did n't seem to mind it. I awoke from a doze 
and heard him calling, " Voy, sefior " (I go) as though 
I had called him. It was the second time this had hap- 
pened, and both times it had been at this dismal hour in 
the early morning. Before, when I said I had not ad- 
dressed him, he looked scared ; so this time I let it go 
and asked if he had all the mules: as though Manuel 
would come back without them all. He handled them 



3o6 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

like kittens, with funny whistles and hissing noises which 
they understood. We made a quick breakfast on tor- 
tillas and coffee, as we had a long day's march ahead ; 
and could barely distinguish the lines of the hacienda 
buildings as we started off into a sea of fog. Soon it 
began to grow light. We were ascending the mountains 
again, and we left the mist below us in the valley like a 
great inland sea. By nine o'clock we were reveling in 
sunshine and the glories of Mexico's mountains, with 
their lights and shadows, and endless vistas of blue-clad 
heights beyond. On the loftier peaks there was snow, 
and as we went up and up, it lay in patches by the trail, 
till we crossed the summit, about 10,000 feet above sea 
level, and dipped into another lovely valley. It was 
eleven o'clock and I was ravenous ; so we stopped for 
almuerzo, as Manuel calls it, by a little stream, whose 
waters were clear as crystal and cold as melted ice, which 
they really were. Manuel concocted a remarkable dish 
of canned beef and breakfast bacon, which looked greasy 
and uninteresting but had a fetching smell, and a seduc- 
tive flavor. I found oranges and lemons invaluable on 
this trip. They became ice-cold at night and retained the 
cold through the heat of the day. With a bit of sugar 
and a dash of tequila they made a delicious punch at mid- 
day ; and at night, when the cold makes a fellow shake in 
his boots, this same punch, boiled over the coals, is a fine 
night-cap. The gordas and tamales were disappearing 
slowly but surely. They seemed an impossible under- 
taking, but one never knows how much he can eat till he 
gets into the mountains. 

Soon after midday we took the trail again. The only 
human beings we saw that day were a woman and some 
children at a little hut. I took a picture of them, but 
could not get very near as they had already caught sight 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 307 

of the black box and started to scamper away. There 
was no rancho in sight at sundown, so we camped under 
a big rock. I had a bed of pine boughs, and the pines 
formed a roof overhead. Manuel was busy cooking: 
he still had the red handkerchief over his head and was 
whistling for the first time. He seemed to like the open 
as well as I did. Ranchos are very well, but for real 
luxury, give me a supper by the camp-fire, a piney couch, 
and sound, sweep sleep beneath the stars. 



CHAPTER XII 

A Night at Hotel Japones : Fear of a Storm : An Early Start : 
A Mountain Rancho: Mountain Hospitality: Recreant 
Mules: Forlorn Indian Family: Charm of Mountain Travel: 
The Last Descent : " El Capitan " : Manuel Sings as the 
Journey Ends : Magnolias : A Meeting With Bob : Home 
Again : The Holidays at the Mines : Serenade and Midnight 
Mass : The First Wheelbarrow : Christmas Dinner : A Mex- 
ican Ball: The Bandit Eracleo Bernal. 

FROM the first rainy day, we had glorious 
weather ; and Manuel said many times, " God 
favors us in the weather, senor." The previous 
night when I fell asleep it was bright starlight and the 
moon was just coming up. I awoke at two o'clock to 
find the sky overcast, and an ominous ring around the 
moon. At this season, rain in the low country is apt 
to mean snow in the mountains ; and then one who does 
not know the trail is likely to go astray. The fire was 
smoldering and as Manuel was sleeping heavily, I got 
up and threw on a log, determining to let him sleep till 
three o'clock. When the hour was up I called him. 
He gave one glance at the sky and with a low " a Dios ! " 
started off in search of the mules. Soon I heard them 
come thudding along: he had hobbled them all, and 
they hopped up to the fire and stood regarding it, like 
large, sad-eyed rabbits. Manuel gave them their corn 
and then began getting breakfast. In spite of the lower- 
ing sky and the prospect of a long, hard ride, there was 
a fascination in it all : the blazing fire, the towering rocks 

308 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 309 

and pine trees, the animals feeding, and Manuel brew- 
ing a fragrant pot of coffee. Beyond the ring of fire- 
light, the dark forest, and probably not another soul 
within a radius of fifty miles ! 

When at last the mules were ready there was no sign 
of daylight. Manuel tied the two pack-animals together 
and struck off into the darkness, leading the foremost 
one. I brought up the rear, as I had not the faintest 
idea where the trail lay. We turned for a last look at 
our cheerful camp-fire and Manuel said, " Adios, Hotel 
Japones." This was Manuel's little joke. I asked why 
he called it the "Japanese Hotel!" and he explained. 
The night before when he was getting supper I sug- 
gested that he cut the plain tamales in strips and fry 
them in bacon fat, as they had become cold and soggy. 
I could see that he did n't approve of my scheme, but it 
proved a success ; the result being the equivalent of fried 
corn mush. Manuel pronounced it mucho muy bueno 
(very, very good), and ate a great deal of it. He now 
informed me that los Chinos were excellent cooks ; and 
that owing to our successful culinary achievements of last 
night, he had christened the camp, " Japanese Hotel." 
I started to explain to him that the Chinese did n't come 
from Japan ; but at that moment the pack-mules went on 
different sides of the same tree. The hind one reared 
and broke away and I expected to see her bolt; but 
Manuel said, " Sh-h-h Mula bonita" (Beautiful mule), 
and she stood still. The damaged reata was repaired, 
and on we went in the darkness, climbing steep hills, 
descending hills that seemed steeper, crossing mesas and 
fording streams, I was wondering how Manuel could 
know where he was going when the mystery was ex- 
plained. He asked me if I thought we were going in 
the right direction, I said I didn't know, but I pre- 



3IO THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

sumed he knew the trail as well as I did the streets of 
Durango. He replied that he did by day, but that now 
he was relying entirely on his mule: that she knew the 
way perfectly, and that he was not guiding her at all, 
but letting her go as she wished. I asked if he thought 
we were right, and he said he did not remember the 
last hill; but that he could not be sure till daylight. 
Then he told me something that had happened only a 
short time before, showing how easy it is to get lost at 
night. He was driving a number of pack-mules, and 
stopped to fix one of the packs. Meantime the others 
wandered from the trail to feed. When he finally got 
them together, he was completely turned around, and 
search as he might could not find the trail. At last he 
unloaded his mules and hobbled them, built a fire, and 
sat there until morning, when he discovered the trail, 
within a few feet of where he was sitting. 

It was so cold, we had to get off our animals and walk 
to set the blood going and when the dawn came at last, 
Manuel was still uncertain. He said we should be on 
the Guitarra Rancho and that when we saw mares 
and colts we should know we were all right. I told him 
when we saw them, he should have some tequila, and 
at sight of a band of brood mares, I got out my flask. 
" A long fife and many boys ! " I said to Manuel, as I 
swallowed a generous portion. Then I poured out some 
for him and the toast evidently had pleased him. He 
grinned and wished me happiness, and added that when 
I was ready to make the return trip, if I would only send 
him word he would come at once to fetch me. It did n't 
occur to me until some time after that I should have 
toasted Manuel's mule. At nine o'clock we arrived at the 
hacienda of "La Guitarra " and stopped to salute the 
sehora, whom I had met on a previous journey. She 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 311 

sent a young lad into the corral with two big earthern 
mugs, and he came back with them foaming to the brim 
with delicious milk ; he had milked into the mugs. They 
told us we could barely make the Rancho San Miguel by 
sundown, as there was lots of snow before us and the 
going was bad. By this time the sun was shining and 
my spirits rose. As we got up into the mountains we 
found snow in abundance, and rode over it for several 
hours. It averaged three inches on the trail, and in 
many places it lay fully six inches deep. The mules were 
not afraid of it, as they had seen it many times ; but 
we had to keep stopping to dig it out of their hoofs, 
where it formed hard balls, making them slide and 
stumble, and our progress was necessarily slow. 
Manuel said that once when he was with a pack train, 
the snow was so deep they had to go ahead with shovels 
and clear the trail. I snapped him with the pack-mules, 
as they jogged along across the snowy plain ; and later 
in a picturesque canon, where he actually shed his 
zarape for the heat. This latter picture was really taken 
for " El Capitan," my sturdy little mule, who would take 
the lead in the early morning and keep it till nightfall, 
never relaxing his gentle pace, till one of the pack-animals 
attempted to pass him, when he would strike a jog trot, 
and keep it up until he had distanced the presuming pack- 
mule. When I asked Manuel what his name was, he 
said he had no name, but they called him " El Capitan " 
because |Iie always led the pack-mules, and would never 
resign his place at the head of the procession. " El 
Capitan " was a pack-mule, when he worked at his 
regular calling, carrying as high as eighteen arrobas (450 
lbs.) so that his present job was a perfect sinecure. 

We stopped for an early luncheon after riding seven 
hours. We were just getting through, when we heard 



312 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

the cries of arrieros (freighters), and a pack train came 
in sight. The chief proved to be a friend of Manuel's. 
As they shook hands the latter exclaimed, " Jose, man, 
I bling thee good news. I saw thy father on Sunday: 
he was well and hearty." In return for this bit of in- 
telligence, Jose pitched in and helped him load the cargas. 
He was a fine stalwart fellow, light enough for a Saxon, 
with big, honest eyes, and a face tranquil as a child's, 
utterly unmarked by the feverish struggle that stamps 
the dwellers in cities. He was a hiien muchacho (good 
boy), Manuel said, and his pack-mules were a gift from 
his Mexican master, as a reward for faithful service. 
They shouted to each other, long after we had separated; 
and when the arriero's voice was scarcely audible, Manuel 
still understood and answered back. 

During the afternoon, the trail became more and more 
precipitous, and the country was wildly picturesque. The 
rock formations in this section are wonderfully grotesque, 
and I believe unequaled anywhere on this continent, save 
in Colorado. In fact, I imagine we have little scenery to 
compare in grandeur with that of northern Durango, 
except perhaps Colorado, Yellowstone Park and the 
Yosemite. My first acquaintance with Mexico was in 
this state, and as I journeyed southward, though the 
scenery is very beautiful, I noticed a certain softness 
of contour that seemed almost tame, after the rugged 
mountains of Durango. On reaching one of the highest 
summits, we saw far ofif, on the brow of another hill, 
a lofty pile of rock that looked like the medieval castle 
of some robber-baron, with frowning parapets and count- 
less towers silhouetted against the red sky. Manuel 
said it was " el Castillo de Chapultepec," where once 
lived the king of the Indians. I asked if he had ever 
heard of Cuauhtemoc, but he said he had not, and 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 313 

asked who he was. Alas for the fame of the Aztec 
emperor ! 

Just as the sun was disappearing, we entered en a 
smooth tableland, where cattle were feeding, and^new 
our ride was nearly over. The cattle in these mountains 
have the finest, softest coats I have ever seen, a regular 
fur in fact. Many are black and white, and their colors 
are literally snow and ebony. The cows are wild-eyed 
and timid, quite different from the placid creatures we 
are accustomed to. Their udders are extremely small 
and they can seldom be milked without hobbling the 
hind legs. It is a funny sight to see a wild-looking 
ranchero, half-vaquero, half-bandit, with pistol at belt, 
huge hat and jingling spurs, putting a rope on the hind 
legs of a cow, and then holding the pail on one side, 
while the woman milks from the other. I was revelling 
in anticipation of fresh milk and cheese, when we came 
in sight of the ranch-house. 

The owners were two bachelor brothers, Don Bias 
and Don Luis, both kindly, hospitable souls. The 
former was away on a journey, but the latter gave us a 
most hearty welcome. The house was presided over by 
a sister, and there was a younger brother on a visit, 
with his sick wife and large family of children. Don 
Luis said the place was very lonely till the children 
came and he called them " rayos del sol" (rays of the 
sun). There was one rosy-cheeked youngster of five, 
who was forever clinging to his hand, and I could see that 
he and his uncle were great cronies. We had a delicious 
supper and then went and sat near the huge bonfire 
which Don Luis had built before the house. Soon I 
was glad to seek the cot-bed in Don Luis's room, which 
Manuel had made up with my blankets, and a little 
pillow in snowy, embroidered cover, sent by the senora. 



314 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

Don Luis said there was plenty of snow ahead of us 
in the mountains, and advised an early start, that we 
might cross the last summit, which was frightfully cold 
at night, and get into the valley before sundown. 

I called Manuel at four o'clock the next morning and 
told him to go for the animals. He said he was afraid of 
a fierce dog who guarded the house at night; sO' the 
good Don Luis dressed hurriedly and went out to tie up 
the dog. I was shaking with the cold in spite of my 
two heavy blankets, overcoat and sweater, and was glad 
enough to turn out and go to the fire which was soon 
blazing in the yard. I found some coffee and tamales 
and with the aid of Don Luis we soon had breakfast 
under way. The rosy-cheeked boy insisted on being 
dressed, and came and nestled under his uncle's great 
cloak. That boy had a bit of everything going. We 
were short of coffee cups, and he and his uncle had one 
between them : first the man took a sip and then the boy, 
and the cup went back and forth from one to the other, 
till it was time to fill it again. 

It began to grow light and still no sign of Manuel. 
The sun rose and the business of the day began, but 
Manuel did not appear. Meantime I had ample op- 
portunity to survey the premises. The house was the 
most comfortable one I had seen since I left Durango, 
with snug corral and outbuildings: and there was a tiny 
chapel of adobe, with a quaint little wooden tower, and 
a sweet-toned bell. Don Luis said he and his brothers 
built it : the padre came at most, twice a year ; but it was 
always open on Sundays and when visitors were there. 
At half after eight, Manuel hove in sight, behind four 
innocent-looking mules. In spite of the fact that they 
were hobbled, they had managed to make a long distance 
on the home trail, and he had tracked them many miles, 




Manuel with pack mules on the snow. Altitude, 
about 10,000 feet 




El Capitan 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 317 

before coming up with them. Of course I could not 
blame A'lanuel ; but I told him we would make a hearty 
breakfast and take lunch in the saddle, not stopping till 
we reached our destination. 

While we were making ready to start, a forlorn In- 
dian woman came to the house. She with her man and 
child had been caught in the snow, with thin cotton 
clothing and bare feet protected only by sandals. They 
were endeavoring to cross the mountains when the storm 
came, and had taken refuge in a cave near the rancho. 
The woman had a frightened look, like a wild thing 
caught in a trap ; and the half -starved child clinging to 
her skirt was a pitiable little object. 

It was nine o'clock when we took the trail, and soon 
we were on the snow again. Traveling was slow work, 
but I was determined not to spend the night on that 
cold mountain, no matter what the hour of our arrival. 
I knew the descent was hard and dangerous, but the moon 
was nearly full, and I hoped it would light the trail. 
Whatever the hardships of a ride in Durango's moun- 
tains, the delights more than atone for them all. I can- 
not describe the charm of those endless forests of pine, 
of the wonderful glimpses at intervals from the trail, 
of sun-bright valleys and distant, blue-veiled peaks, and 
the dazzling green of the pines against the snow. It is 
all too beautiful for words, and the most I can say is, 
it bestows a strange, dreamy sort of happiness, with for- 
getfulness of old troubles, disregard for what the future 
may hold, and the full power to live for and enjoy the 
present. 

When we reached the last summit the sun was gone, 
but the moon was bright overhead. Then began the steep 
descent. " El Capitan " leaped, stumbled and slid in 
almost a sitting position, but he never lost his head nor 



3i8 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

his feet. He knew that trail hke a bag of corn and he 
was merely getting over it the easiest way. Manuel 
kept close behind and said again and again to one or 
the other of his pack-mules, " Mula bonita ! Vuelva a 
trabajar!" (Beautiful mule! Return to your work!) 
In some places, the trail was light; but in others Vhere 
the trees overhung, it was quite dark. I gave " El 
Capitan " his head, feeling perfect confidence in his 
ability to land me at the door of my good friend Don 
Jesus, whose casa was still several thousand feet below. 
As we went down and down, the air became soft and 
languorous, and occasionally the wind brought the strong, 
sweet odor of magnolias. Manuel began singing a plain- 
tive air, in his soft Indian voice. It was the first time 
he had sung and for the moment I was vexed with him. 
As I have said before, I like a singing mozo. Then I 
thought of the reason. He was a mere boy, not over 
twenty-two at most, and all the responsibility of the trip, 
not only of the mules and cargas, but of our lives as 
well, had been upon him. No wonder he sang, now that 
the end of his labor was in sight. So we rode on through 
the sweet-scented air, Manuel still singing, till we en- 
tered the little pueblo of Carboneros and stopped before 
a white-walled cottage. Manuel called out, " Here is a 
sehor I " and the next moment Don Jesus was shaking me 
by the hand. The supper table had just been laid in the 
broad veranda, and Don Jesus said I had come in good 
time. Soon we were seated and he was telling me of my 
friends only six hours away; how they had sent mozos 
for the last two days to the summit to look for me, and 
they themselves had waited at his house until nightfall. 
I felt tempted to ask for the loan of a fresh animal, and 
push on to join them; but it would be after midnight 
when I arrived, there was an arroyo that had to be 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 319 

crossed twenty times, and besides I felt a bit shaky 
about the legs. It was the eve of Our Lady of Guada- 
lupe, The main room had been arranged as a chapel, 
with an altar and lights, and trimmed with evergreens. 
The women were singing and their voices had a soothing 
sound. But I went to my bed reluctantly. Such is the 
unreasonableness of human nature, after two years' 
absence, those few intervening hours that kept me from 
my friends seemed interminable. 

When I awoke the following morning, the sun was 
streaming into my room. I had slept ten hours ; but I 
felt it was no more than my due after averaging as many 
in the saddle, for the past four successive days. Manuel 
looked rather sheepish when I found him in the corral, 
but I did n't say anything more severe than, " Andale ! " 
(Hurry!) Soon we were on our way again, winding 
down the mountain. The scene was beautiful, with the 
note of industry supplied by a thriving mining locality. 
Below us lay the little town of San Dimas, and on the 
mountain side I could see the site of the famous Can- 
delaria Mine which, since the early Spanish days, has 
produced incalculable treasures. Bob, who had now 
risen to the position of manager of the hacienda, met 
me on the trail. He had come out to greet me, and as 
we rode we recalled the events of our first meeting, of 
our stay . in Durango and the ride over the mountains. 
Bob rode with me far beyond San Dimas, and then 
turned back with the promise that we should meet on 
Christmas. I spurred " El Capitan " across the arroyo, 
and with Manuel following close behind, set out on my 
last hour's ride to " La Puerta," where my friends 
awaited me. The remaining distance was soon covered 
and on rounding a bend in the arroyo I saw the quaint 
old hacienda, with the little church, abandoned for cen- 



320 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

turies, and now converted into a charming American 
home. Don Alfredo and Dona Marciana awaited me at 
its hospitable portals, — but why attempt to describe a 
meeting with friends, than which I have experienced 
no greater happiness. We talked late that night, and 
dwelt long on those old days in the beautiful valley of 
Huahuapan, before I left the camp. 

Christmas was now close at hand, and the Americans 
throughout the San Dimas mining district were preparing 
to make it, as much as was possible, a home celebration. 
In Mexico, as in all Catholic countries, the religious cele- 
bration begins on Christmas eve, which is called Noche 
Buena or " Good Night " ; and it is then the country 
people seek the towns and cities. The highway from 
Mazatlan to the San Dimas mining district lies straight 
up the canon of the Piaxtla River and the San Dimas 
Arroyo. This is during the dry season, when the river 
is low. In the rainy months, travelers must take the 
road over the mountains, which means a journey of 
nine days or more. The trip down the river is made in 
from three to four days. " La Puerta," where I was 
staying, is directly on the river ; and all day on the Sun- 
day preceding Christmas we saw the people coming 
from the pueblos farther down and from the mountain 
ranchos to San Dimas, which is a good three hours' ride 
above " La Puerta " and which is always the center of 
festivities. The well-to-do man and his family were 
on horseback; the serioras and senoritas in huge hats 
and muffled to the eyes in white linen rebozos, to keep 
out the heat. They were always accompanied by one or 
more pack-animals with trunks ; for there was to be a 
ball on Christmas night, and the fair ones carried their 
party dresses with them. 

The peones and their families were on foot, and as 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 321 

they had to ford the stream many times, often where 
it was waist-deep, all were prepared for wading. Every 
man carried a pack, and it was not infrequently sur- 
mounted by a chubby child, who surveyed the sights 
with round, wondering eyes, from the vantage-point on 
its father's broad shoulders. The peones of this sec- 
tion are nearly all mountain men, and a hardy, rugged 
set. There are many bright, intelligent faces among 
them, often distinctly European in cast. Like all peones, 
they are trained to carry immense loads, either on their 
backs or balanced on their heads. When iron wheel- 
barrows were first introduced into Candelaria mine, in 
place of the leather sack, in which the ore had always 
been carried, a brawny peon was directed to fill a barrow, 
and wheel it to the ore patio. He piled it high with rock, 
eyed it dubiously for a moment, and then seizing it, 
lifted it on his head, and trotted away with it. An- 
other peon carried a Burley drill, weighing in the neigh- 
borhood of six hundred pounds, from the hacienda to 
the mine, over a very steep trail that is covered on 
mule-back in about an hour. The hacienda boasts a 
piano, probably the only one that side of Mazatlan, 
which was carried all the way from the coast on the 
shoulders of peones. 

When we arrived at San Dimas on Christmas eve 
we found it en fete; that is the shops were closed, hand 
organs were playing and nearly every peon had a bottle 
of mescal. The men were given full license until Christ- 
mas night, so long as there was no fighting. The worst 
that could happen to an inebriate was being conveyed 
to the jail and allowed to sleep it off, when he was at 
once given his liberty with the privilege of getting drunk 
all over again. 

On Christmas eve a string band played on the plaza, 
16 



2,22 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

which is a wide street, one square in length, where the 
people promenade. This place also ser-vt^ as theater, 
when a wandering operetta company comes to the town, 
a stage being erected at one end and a canvas stretched 
over the street for a roof. The audience bring their 
own chairs and primitive comforts by no means interfere 
with their enjoyment. 

The band played till half-past eleven, when the bells 
began ringing for midnight mass. We found the little 
church full of people on their knees, and the altar boys 
engaged in lighting the candles. The band had pre- 
ceded us and was playing the mass, which was sung by 
men and boys, some with very good voices. I preferred 
to remain outside, and watch the dark forms gliding 
from the shadow into the light that streamed from the 
church door, sometimes to enter, again only to kneel 
and cross themselves. Many were quite unsteady on their 
legs, but there were few, who could walk, that did not 
stumble at least to the door, before morning, 

Christmas day was hot and all seemed inclined to save 
themselves for the ball. The people kept up their fest- 
tivities, as they knew that at ten o'clock that night their 
holiday was over so far as carousing was concerned, and 
they must all be in their homes. The creatures are 
naturally such a mild, peaceful set, it is impossible not 
to like them. The danger comes, when crazed with 
mescal, a disgusto arises, and out comes the ugly knife. 
In San Dimas neither knives nor pistols are allowed, 
hence casualties are reduced to a minimum. 

At four o'clock there was a dinner at the hacienda 
and eighteen people sat down at table. There were a 
Mexican, a German, an Englishman, a Hungarian, and 
Americans completed the party. It was hard to realize 
we were five days from the railroad, with such a varied 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 323 

menu, and when the mince pie and fruit pudding ap- 
peared it seemed a sure-enough Christmas dinner. At 
six o'clock the ladies withdrew, and we organized an 
impromptu quartette, and sang old-time songs till at 
last they reappeared in simple, white muslin frocks. I 
doubt if the most elaborate ball dress ever created a 
more profound sensation. Imagine a typical mining 
camp, with all its accompanying dust and grind, and 
then set down in the midst a fair, winsome American 
girl, in a fluffy, puffy, fleecy white gown. 

The dance was given in the school-house. The floor 
had been canvassed and the room was hung in trans- 
parent red, white and green stuff. There were masses 
of fragrant pine branches piled high in the corridor 
and before the musicians, and before the cantina (bar). 
There were lots of pretty Mexican girls and the music 
was excellent. The favorite dances were waltz, polka, 
schottische and the Mexican danza. The latter, which 
is also known as the " love dance," is thoroughly char- 
acteristic. The music is very soft and very slow. The 
youth holds his partner, presumably his novia, as though 
for a waltz, but the nearest approach to waltzing is a 
slow, gliding walk, which they keep in unison, some- 
times seeming scarcely to move ; meantime he gazes deep 
into her dark eyes and whispers impassioned words in 
her willing ear. The Mexican youths and maidens are 
fond of the danza and usually prefer this dreamy walk- 
around, to the livelier polka or schottische. Here the 
likings of the two nations are in marked contrast. An 
animated polka would strike up and the young Mexicans 
and their partners would begin slowly circling the room, 
while the Americans took the center and danced the 
glide polka. In some instances an American beguiled 
his or her Mexican partner into the same rapid step. 



324 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

but I saw one fair-haired Northern youth slowly un- 
dulating in the danza with a sehorita, and he seemed 
to have mastered it in every phase, even to the look in 
his eyes. 

Refreshments were served throughout the evening and 
aided greatly in keeping up the enthusiasm, for it was 
a sultry night. At two o'clock the floor managers dis- 
tributed little silken rosettes among the ladies, who were 
requested to attach them to the coats of the gentlemen 
with whom they desired the next dance. This was an 
innovation that met with no special favor at the hands 
of the senoritas. All their training had accustomed 
them to the very opposite course to anything in the way 
of overtures to the other sex. One bright-eyed miss, 
who had just returned from school where she learned 
English, did summon up enough courage to beckon a 
young American, and I distinctly heard her say, " Come 
here ! " He lost no time in going. The other girls sat 
calmly holding the favors; and though the dance finally 
began and many of the men eventually wore the ribbons, 
they probably had to ask for them. 

The party broke up at three o'clock, those who had 
remained going home together, with the musicians in 
advance playing las mananitas — which are pieces played 
in the early morning after a party. On reaching the 
plaza they stopped quite naturally and struck into a waltz, 
and the music proved so alluring, we were beguiled into 
one more turn on the smooth pavement. Then " buenas 
noches " was said in earnest, the musicians playing until 
the last couple was out of sight. This seems a very 
pretty and complimentary custom but it goes even farther 
in some of the smaller pueblos. In one where I was 
staying a dance was given, and the young man who gave 
it went with the players to fetch his novia. They were 




ill ihe \ alley 




Feeding the pack-mules 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 327 

attended by the other young men of the pueblo, and then 
they went to the house of each girl in succession, the 
band playing all the time, until all were assembled, when 
they proceeded to the place where the dance was given. 
All the men carried pine torches and the sight was 
picturesque in the extreme. The same form was ob- 
served in seeing the girls home, but torches were no 
longer needed, as it was broad daylight when the dance 
ended. 

San Dimas is one of the oldest mining towns in 
Mexico. It lies in the -bottom of a deep cafion and is 
surrounded by mountains that tower over 4,000 feet 
above it. The exit to the coast is along the Piaxtla 
River. It has between twelve and fifteen hundred peo- 
ple. The men are a race of miners, and there are 
veterans among them who have worked in the " Can- 
delaria " from boyhood. They occasionally try their 
hand at something else, but always drift back to the 
miine just as a sailor does to the sea. The barber, whose 
acquaintance I made there, told me his father and all 
his family had been miners; and though his present 
work is much easier, he still spoke rather regretfully of 
la mina. He was a bright fellow, about forty years old, 
and assured me he has never so much as left San Dimas : 
has never seen a locomotive nor the sea. To those who 
have traveled, such ignorance of the world is almost 
incredible. 

The ores in all the mines of San Dimas run high in 
gold. The metal is shipped in bars to San Francisco, 
where it is sold outright, an assay being made and the 
gold and silver proportionately paid for. A bar weighs, 
on an average, seventy-six pounds. Before refining, 
it contains a proportion of baser metals; but there is 
also a percentage of gold, that raises its value as high as 



328 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

a thousand or even twelve hundred dollars. The bul- 
lion is transported to Mazatlan on mules, one load seldom 
being over three bars, as a quick trip is desirable. A 
bullion train makes the trip to Mazatlan in from four to 
five days. The freighters receive five dollars a bar for 
carrying, and there is always return freight, at the rate 
of $7.50 a load, which is three hundred pounds. 

In the old days, when bandits were thicker than flies 
in the summer, every bullion train was attended by a 
guard of soldiers. The owner of La Candelaria, whom 
every one addresses as " Colonel," told an amusing 
story regarding a threatened raid of the notorious 
Eracleo Bernal. This famous bandit had been com- 
mitting depredations in the adjacent mountains, and San 
Dimas was in dread of a visit. One day some of the 
men employed at the hacienda came rushing in, their 
eyes bulging with terror and said, " Eracleo is coming ! " 
He had just crossed the summit, they declared, and was 
sweeping down on the town, followed by his horsemen. 
The Colonel armed his little force, stationed reliable men 
on guard and then ascended a hill near by, hoping to get 
an early view of the enemy. Far up on the trail he 
saw a cloud of dust, but it didn't impress him as being 
made by a body of horsemen. He watched it for a long 
time and finally saw that it was a flock of sheep. The 
Colonel chuckled but kept mum; and the frightened 
people continued in such a panic of apprehension that 
even when they heard the bleating of the innocent in- 
vaders, it was hard to convince them that Eracleo was 
not at their heels. 

The Colonel once came near meeting the bandit chief, 
under circumstances which might have proved serious. 
Finding it necessary to go to Mazatlan, at a time when 
travel in Mexico was rather insecure, he quietly made his 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 329 

preparations for the trip, and set out with a trusty 
mozo, not telhng even him where they were going. 
Secret as he was, though, the bandits got wind of it, 
probably through a spy in camp, who warned them of 
the departure. The Colonel, quite regardless of danger, 
rode ahead of his mozo, and eventually -missed the trail, 
getting on the wrong side of the river. He discovered 
his mistake, but determined to keep on, feeling sure he 
should come out all right and that his mozo would re- 
join him on the highway. He finally struck the trail and 
reached a hacienda where he spent the night. The 
mozo did not appear and he went on to Mazatlan with- 
out him. He had been there several days and was much 
perplexed to know what had become of the fellow, who 
had always proved faithful, when one morning he ap- 
peared. He was riding quietly along, he said, following 
his patron, when he found himself surrounded by 
bandits. This happened on that part of the trail the 
Colonel had missed, when he crossed the river. On the 
mozo insisting that his master had gone on ahead, the 
bandits accused him of lying. They bound him, carried 
him into the mountains and maltreated him severely, 
trying to make him reveal his master's whereabouts ; but 
becoming convinced at last that he knew no more about 
it than they did, they let him go. This was doubtless a 
sad disappointment to Eracleo, as the owner of Candelaria 
mine would have been a rich prize, and the bandit leader 
thought he had a handsome sum almost within his grasp. 
This same Eracleo Bernal, who came to be the terror of 
Durango mining camps, started life as a peon boy, in 
the region of Basis and Huahuapan. The people of 
the Huahuapan valley remembered him when, a tow- 
headed boy, he carried the food to the men at work in 
the Huahuapan mines. 



CHAPTER XITI 

Seeing the Mine: Testing a Tenderfoot: Open Cut to Lower 
Level : Exploring Ancient Tunnels : Mysterious Voices : 
Castles in Spain : Something About the Peon : The Com- 
pany Store : El Diablo and the Talking Machine : Marriage 
an Expensive Luxury: The Peon's Fondness for Children: 
Quaint Songs Heard in the Durango Hills: The Most In- 
teresting Thing in the World. 

THERE is an old saying about " small begin- 
nings " that seems especially applicable to a 
mine. The beginning of a mine is a 7' x 7' 
hole in the ground. Its ending, however, is apt to be 
bigger. It may be a loss, but it is sure to be big. 
Often it ends in a fortune and the 7' x 7' opening leads 
to a great underground world, with miles of tunnels, 
shafts that seem destined to reach the earth's center, 
and thousands of workmen, toiling night and day. 
When I first visited a Mexican silver mine, I was amazed 
at its unpretentious beginnings. A mine that was his- 
torical, that had produced countless millions, — I could 
not believe my eyes when I saw the insignificant 7' x 7' 
aperture. That hole in the ground the entrance to 
treasure-land? Before I had gotten over my surprise, 
a train of ore cars, filled with ore and drawn by little 
mules, issued from the tunnel, dumped the ore on the 
patio and waited for us to get in. Then they galloped 
into the mine, a peon running ahead with a lighted torch. 
At intervals we passed cross-cuts, which presented end- 
less vistas of lights. I heard the ceaseless rap-rap-rap 

330 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 331 

of the Burley drills and saw dusky forms gliding past, 
either going to or returning from a shift. Presently we 
met another train, with more metal, and still we kept 
on. I concluded the unpretentious hole meant more 
than at first appeared ; and before I saw daylight again, 
I was sure of it. This was merely preliminary. The 
next day, the foreman asked me to go down through the 
mine with him, which meant to enter at the old works, 
on top of the mountain, and come out of the main tunnel, 
1,500 feet below. We rode our mules to the summit, 
and turning them over to a mozo, went in at the great 
open cut. This was where the ancients commenced 
working the mine, running down on the ledge, and the 
tremendous, cavern-like opening seemed a fitting ap- 
proach to such a wonderful treasure house. It was only 
in appearance though ; for while every ounce of ore had to 
be carried up that steep ascent on men's backs, it is 
hauled out by the ton in the mule cars from the com- 
monplace tunnel below. 

At first, the descent was made by regular ladders laid 
against the perpendicular wall; but these soon came to 
an end, and I found myself climbing down what are 
known in mining parlance as Haves; a series of rounds 
placed horizontally, one above the other, at intervals of 
from two to three feet. They were slippery with mud 
and slime, and I found it difficult to keep my footing. 
We kept running into side issues in the way of cross- 
cuts and upraises: and the foreman, who wanted to see 
how they were looking, insisted on my seeing them too. 
There was compensation in going down the Haves, be- 
cause every step brought me nearer the main tunnel and 
the mule cars ; but climbing into upraises was quite an- 
other matter. We would haul ourselves up fifty or 
sixty feet over slippery cross-bars, to where a little 



332 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

bunch of naked miners were at work, drilling into the 
hard rock. Sometimes we found them in good metal, 
and the foreman was correspondingly cheerful. At 
others, they were in waste and we left them hammering 
away, without a word. Once I made a misstep, missed 
the last rung of the ladder, and slid several feet in the 
dark. The foreman seemed disturbed and said that in 
three feet more I would have gone down an ore chute; 
but by this time I had given up hope of getting out alive, 
and the manner of my taking off did n't matter. I after- 
wards learned that this was one of the numerous chutes 
for conducting ore to the lower tunnel, and that getting 
into it meant a slide of i,ooo feet. 

We did eventually reach the main tunnel, and I was 
listening for the mule-car, when the foreman remarked 
that of course I wanted to go down the shaft. Oh, yes, to 
be sure! We got into an ore bucket, gripped a wire 
cable, with bristling strands that stuck into my hands 
like cactus spines, and were lowered 500 feet further 
into the bowels of the earth. There were four levels, 
and on each men were at work, taking out ore. 
After looking over the lower level, the foreman rang a 
bell, the bucket was lowered again and we were hauled 
to the surface, just in time to catch the ore-train for 
the outer world. On the way, I saw quite an elaborate 
shrine in a niche in the tunnel. It was trimmed with 
paper flowers and much tinsel, and had candles that were 
kept burning night and day. When I finally alighted 
on the patio, it was with sore hands and aching legs, but 
with a great appetite, and best of all, the proud con- 
sciousness that I had seen the mine. This I remarked 
to the foreman. He looked at me pityingly and said: 
" You might spend a week inside, and then not see it 
all!" 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 333 

Going through a mine, in operation and peopled by 
Hving beings, is not a circumstance to exploring one 
long-abandoned, and given over to bats and snakes. 
The noxious air seems devoid of oxygen, the bats circle 
about your head in droves. You eye the rotting 
chicken-ladders suspiciously, before trusting yourself to 
their support, and v^onder where you would land if one 
gave way. The old Mexicans had the habit of running 
on the vein and taking out all the metal in sight as they 
came to it, only leaving pillars sufficient to keep the 
mine from caving. Hence their old workings are veri- 
table labyrinths and they seem to have adopted the very 
hardest way for doing everything. If they ran down 
fifty or sixty feet on a ledge and found it in good metal, 
instead of running a tunnel in on that level, for getting 
out the ore, they preferred to carry it on their backs, up 
almost perpendicular ladders. I have explored a number 
of old tunnels whose age can not be approximated. 
They are fascinating and the chances of becoming a sort 
of " Monte Cristo " more so : but I never realized how 
much better the sunlight was than anything else in the 
world, till I first saw it after six hours in the gloomy 
depths of an old Mexican mine. 

There are many pursuits connected with mining in 
Mexico besides exploring old mines. For instance, there 
is surveying. You go up on top of a mountain in the 
broiling sun to run a few lines, and send a man to 
hold the rod on a peak half a mile away. You have 
previously arranged a code of signals : if you raise your 
hand, he is to lift the target: if you lower it, he is to 
drop the target, etc., etc. When he gets in position, you 
look through the instrument and signal to raise. He 
promptly begins to lower. You wave frantically and 
yell yourself hoarse, but to no avail. You exhaust all 



334 THE MAN WHO LIKES Z^IEXICO 

the profanit}- at your command, both in Ingles and 
Castellano; but he keeps on doing exactly the opposite 
to what you want him to. ^\'hen you finally meet, you 
are amazed to find that he is as mad as you are. The 
sun was in his eyes, he could n't see your signals and 
while he has n't heard your expletives, he has been doing 
a little in the same line. Finally you both cool off and go 
back to tn- it over. 

Then there is assaying. You go to the mine, where 
you are prospecting, and the head barratero meets you 
with a glad eye. He says the men on tlie night shift 
heard voices inside the hanging wall, and that the last 
blast brought them into good metal. These supersti- 
tions of the mining folk affect you mysteriously when 
you are looking for a bonanza. You inspect the face 
of the drift, and the barratero shakes his head wisely 
and says " inuy rico ! " {xtry rich !) . You take numerous 
samples and it certainly does look well — lots of lead 
and bronze and a suspicion of gold. As you ride down 
the mountain, you begin picking out the best place for 
a tramway and speculate as to how big a smelter you 
will put in. Then your thoughts drift further, and by 
the time you reach camp, you have even spent (in your 
mind) a portion of the wealth that seems a siye thing. 
The sight of the assay furnace is a bit of a dampener. 
There is no romance about an assay furnace. It melts 
ever}-thing down alike and proves the ** Survival of the 
fittest '■' and " Gold must be tried by fire." You set to j 
work to prepare and make the assays. It is a long 
process, but the last stage is finally reached, namely, 
cupelling in the furnace oven. If that bead would only 
stop at the size of a good, healthy pea! But it keeps 
reducing. Xow it is only medium, and now — cara- 
coles! it is reduced to a pin point. '" Castles in Spain " 



1 






■' y-f 




'I v.. ., 





THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 337 

come to earth with a crash and incidentally tram-ways 
and smelters. I have heard during the assaying process 
even more violent expletives than " Caracoles ! " which 
is Spanish for " snails ! " 

The peones, in fact all the people who work in the 
mines, interest me. A Mexican miner's life is not so 
dreary as that of a worker in a Northern mine, a coal 
mine for instance. The Mexican miner is indolent, 
and no power on earth can make him work very hard. 
He is by instinct a rover. He may be comfortably 
housed, with fair pay and credit at the company store ; 
but when the fever to wander is on him, nothing can 
keep him from going. If the family owns a burro, the 
household goods are loaded and away they go, over the 
mountains. Usually, however, the man carries the pack, 
with a small child seated on top, and the woman brings 
up the rear, barefooted and with a babe in her arms. 
This is the wandering Indian spirit, that will not be still, 
but leads the peon again and again into the mountains, 
and gixes him a taste of fresh air and sunshine. 

I like the Mexican peon, lazy and tricky though he may 
sometimes be. " His vices make up for his faults ! " 
as the old woman said of an ingratiating and bad grand- 
son. In reality the peon has many virtues that incline 
me to overlook his failings. He is always respectful 
and submissive, when not in his cups, and, for that mat- 
ter, no man behaves any too well when drunk. Sun- 
day is the peon's gala day. Then he puts on his snowy 
cotton clothes, if he is lucky enough to possess a change, 
throws his bright zarape over one shoulder, and goes to 
the store for his week's rations. He buys like a lord 
while there is a cent coming to him, or as long as the 
company will trust him. Next to hats, his weakness is 
for handkerchiefs. What he does with so many is a 



338 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

mystery, but I consider his fondness for them a sign of 
refinement, to which the lower classes in some lands are 
strangers. Nor does he always buy red and yellow. 
I have been surprised to see him select a pale pink or 
delicate blue. Then he dumps into it his various pur- 
chases, beans, sugar, cigarros, corn or onions, ties them 
up snugly, and if he happens to think of something else 
he needs, buys another handkerchief to put it in. At 
the store he meets his friends and his slow and formal 
way of greeting seems a survival of ancient Indian and 
Spanish courtesy combined. He takes off his hat, shakes 
hands, and makes many polite inquiries as to the health 
of the family. He is generous to a fault; if he has still 
a few cents coming to him, and his companero, whose 
credit is exhausted, wants cigarros, he cheerfully buys 
them and has them charged on his own account. The 
method of charging is unique. As few of the peons 
know figures, a system of simple characters has been 
adopted, that all understand. Each man has his pass 
book, in which his purchases are entered by the store 
clerks. A long straight mark means a real (twelve and 
a half cents). A short one, half a real. A cipher stands 
for one dollar and half a cipher for half a dollar. 
Strangely enough the V and X are used to indicate five 
and ten dollars. Thus the following OOIIIVX would 
stand for $17.38, the consecutive order of the characters 
not afifecting their value. 

At " La Puerta " no liquor was sold, but there was 
plenty of music, and with music the peon is happy. At 
times, he plaintively solicits " a few little drinks," but 
when the graphophone begins playing " La Golondrina," 
he forgets his thirst. It is funny to see his amazed 
look at hearing the voice of a man, singing or talk- 
ing from the graphophone. Isidro, the foreman, was 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 339 

a faithful fellow and a true friend — a little inclined to 
take life easy, and with the vice of borrowing well-devel- 
oped. One day, Don Alfredo, who was genuinely at- 
tached to Isidro, talked into a blank record, saying in 
effect that Isidro was very lazy and for that reason he 
could not lend him money. When Isidro came again to 
listen to the graphophone, it was playing a banjo piece 
and his face was wreathed in smiles. The music ceased. 
A gruff voice was talking: he heard his own name, he 
was " un hombre muy Ho jo" (a man very lazy). His 
eyes were big with fright and without waiting to hear 
more, he fled in terror. I heard that some of the men 
said el Diablo was inside the box, and I noticed they all 
kept a safe distance. 

In the San Dimas district the peon earns a dollar a 
day. The barratero, or man with the bar or drill, gen- 
erally works on contract, running the tunnel at a given 
price per foot, and earns anywhere from five to twenty 
or even thirty dollars a week, according to his ability, his 
willingness to work, and the hardness of the rock he is 
running through. He works with a compaiiero, one 
holding the drill, while the other strikes ; and long before 
you come up to him in the blackness of the mine, you 
hear his monotonous sing-song chant, with the sledge 
keeping rhythmic beat. He is stripped to the skin, with 
nothing on save his breech-clout and sandals, and his 
dark, sinewy form is dripping with sweat. You come to 
a shaft, two or three hundred feet deep, and while you 
are holding on to the wall for safety and looking down 
the dizzy descent, a peon comes gliding along, with his 
leather sack slung on his shoulder, and trips lightly down 
the perilous chicken-ladder, as you would down a broad 
and easy stairway. A chicken-ladder is the trunk of a 
tree, with its branches lopped off, and notches cut in it 



340 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

for steps. Peones prefer them to any other ladder. 
They say the American ladders hurt their feet. A peon 
will pick up a sack with a hundred and fifty pounds of 
metal, put it on his back with the strap across his fore- 
head, and walk up a hundred feet of chicken-ladders 
without stopping to breathe. They are a slim, well put- 
up set of fellows, every ounce bone and muscle. 

For the morals of the peon, I must admit they are lax, 
at least from our standpoint. With him, marriage was 
formerly an expensive luxury not often indulged in; but 
it is becoming more frequent, now that it has been 
placed within his reach at a nominal cost by the govern- 
ment. I have been surprised to find aged couples, that 
have lived their lives peacefully together and reared fam- 
ilies, without ever having the legal or church ceremony 
performed. The women are hard-working, grinding the 
corn, patting out the tortillas, and doing their endless 
washing, down on their knees beside some muddy stream. 
Indeed, the peon is forced to take to himself a mate, in 
order to get his cooking and washing done. There are 
no boarding-houses for the Mexican peon, and the women 
can seldom be prevailed upon to cook for any save their 
own men. Indifferent though the peon is to the mar- 
riage bond, he is inflexible on the matter of baptism ; and 
will carry his infant for miles over the mountains that 
it may receive the rites of the Church. If at any time 
he and the mother wish to separate, he willingly provides 
for the child, placing it with some of his own people. 
It seems a sad state of affairs, but among these people 
nothing is thought of it. A peon is not always as dull 
as he looks. I had this illustrated in talking with one, 
whose father and grandfather before him were born in 
the mountains. I was curious to know his idea about the 
first coming of the Spaniards, if indeed he had any such 



^ 



Z' 





Weighing the bead 




The beginning of a mine 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 343 

idea, of which I was not sure. He said they were very 
cruel to the Indians and forced them to work in their 
mines : that all they cared for. was getting rich — " But," 
he added, " that is all the Americanos care for." 

" That may be," I replied ; " but they pay you for your 
labor, while the Spaniards made slaves of your people." 

" It is true," he answered quick as a flash, " and for 
that we drove them out." 

I was deeply interested in the songs of the mountain 
people. Doria Marciana's maid, Gumecinda, who had 
a soft, pleasant voice and had often sung for us, pre- 
sented me with two songs, which she had carefully 
copied, with considerable labor I am sure. She was a 
faithful soul, entirely devoted to Dona Marciana, and 
had left her own pueblo of Huahuapan, two days across 
the mountains, together with all her kith and kin, to fol- 
low her young mistress. So far as her own race was 
concerned, she was among strangers. Her songs were 
different from any I had heard. The opening lines of 
one were the following: 

Si supieras cuanto te amo 
Fresca rosa, si supieras 
Cuanto te amo Aor divina. 
El consuelo de mi alma! ' 

Didst thou but know how much I love thee 
My fresh rose, — didst thou but know 
How much I love thee, — flower divine, — 
Consolation of my soul ! 

The other song has a wild note both in the words and 
the music: it began: — 

Dicen que par estos monies han de haber 
Muchos tigres y leones a que casar — ' 
17 



344 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

" They say that in these mountains there should be 
Many tigers, many lions for the chase." 

It was the sort of a song I could listen to for hours 
and made me think of one that always charmed me as a 
youngster and went: 

" We'll chase the antelope over the plain, 
The lion's cub we'll bind with a chain." 

I asked Gumecinda where she learned this song and 
she said from a man in the mountains who was a great 
hunter, who used to sing it when he was starting away 
with his gun. He had the skins of various animals that 
he had killed, and with these he would disguise himself, 
so he could creep quite near his prey, whether deer or 
mountain-lion. She ofifered to teach me the song and I 
accepted, but I had slight hope of catching all its weird 
cadences. This same woman was once with us on a 
camping trip and would sing for us at night, when we 
sat about the fire. She always went and crouched by 
her mistress's side, with her face in shadow, and there 
she would sing by the hour ; the mysterious night sounds 
in the forest lending a fit accompaniment to the low, mel- 
ancholy voice. There was also a mozo with us who sang 
well, and on the day we were to break camp I was awak- 
ened long before daylight, to find him singing over the 
fire. He was making coffee and crooning a sort of fare- 
well song. The camp was in a beautiful spot, near a 
ruined pueblo which had once been called " San Jose " ; 
and I caught the words, " Adios, San Jose — Adios." I 
think he made them up as he went along. 

I like to hear these people sing, especially in the night. 
At La Puerta they were passing all night long with 
pack trains, through the road in the bed of the arroyo. 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 345 

I could barely hear the rattle of the mules' feet on the 
pebbles, above the sound of the water. One night, I 
knew from this pattering sound a train was passing; and 
then one of the arrieros began singing in a plaintive, mo- 
notonous, yet musical voice, something about " una mujer 
ingrata" (ungrateful woman). He probably was not at 
all sad, though his voice sounded so, and he liked the 
song so well, he sang it over and over, and I was sorry 
enough when he was out of hearing. I was almost 
asleep, when I heard it again. The train was crossing a 
ridge, a hundred yards below the hacienda, and the 
strain floated back on the night wind : " Esa mujer ingrat- 
ingrata." 

If I were asked what interests me more than anything 
else, truth would compel me to answer, " people." It 
used to worry me, for I found it interfered with business. 
In Mexico, when I tried to get interested in mining, I 
would go to the mines, examine the ledge critically, pick 
up a piece of rock and look wise. Before I knew it, I 
would forget all about the mine and become interested 
in the people; the dark, silent men, hammering away 
at the flinty wall or gliding along the tunnel, laden with 
heavy sacks of ore. They were the nearest to beasts of 
burden I had ever seen in the shape of human beings and 
I wanted to know about them. Had their fathers ever 
been slaves and did they know this? Were the fine, 
Moorish faces that I frequently saw, a pure Indian type, 
or were they due to a Spanish strain? How many had 
Spanish blood anyway and what sort of people were 
their ancestors, before the Spaniards came? Some 
looked as though they had come from a line of cargadores 
with their huge feet and heavy limbs ; while others were 
as trim and slight as a thoroughbred. I have seen a peon 
who could not write his name and never heard of Mex- 



346 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

ico City, yet with a face and carriage that needed only the 
pitiable adjunct of clothes and a little coaching, to make 
him hold his own on Fifth Avenue, so far as looks are 
concerned : and a girl, whose only shelter consisted of 
four poles with a roof of brushwood, whose one ac- 
complishment was grinding corn for tortillas, yet whose 
delicate beauty, in the right setting, would start a city 
raving about her. When I see such sights I can't help 
wondering about them, nor about a hundred other things 
that are none of my business. I used to wish I were dif- 
ferent ; but I finally gave in to the inevitable. I can't 
say I have been sorry and I have learned some things. 
I have seen conditions that have made me realize what 
a sad thing ignorance is ; and I have recognized noble 
traits and sterling qualities in the midst of these same 
conditions, that have made our vaunted civilization seem 
a poor thing. The people that possess these traits I re- 
member, and their portraits are in a gallery of my own 
with others that I have collected through the years; and 
the gallery never seems to become filled. The people 
are of all ranks and conditions, and of many different 
races: still there never seems anything incongruous in 
the way the portraits are hung. I think if I tried to de- 
fine the quality they all possess and which, to a degree, 
makes them fit company, one for another, I should call 
it Truth. 

I first saw Gumecinda in the little. Isolated Indian 
pueblo of Huahuapan where they had never laid eyes on 
white people. No longer young, pure Indian in type, 
she still possessed something, whether it was her manner, 
her voice, her way of doing things, that made her differ- 
ent from the others. She lived with her aunt, an old 
witch of a thing, with an eye for trouble and an appetite 
for mescal. Here a virtue crops out between the afore- 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 347 

said eye and the mescal. The witch gave Giimecinda a 
home because she was a relative. It would have been 
just the same, had she been worthless and good-for- 
nothing. " Blood is thicker than water." A relation 
must be cared for while there is a zarape to sleep under 
or a kernel of mats in the corn-bin. It is the way of the 
country. 

As it happened, Gumecinda was a much-prized mem- 
ber of the household. No one could make such good 
tamales, none such fine, snowy tortillas : no one could 
wash the cotton clothing in the little stream till it looked 
snow-white but Gumecinda. If a son or cousin had a sick 
wife in the mountain, who must go to nurse her and the 
little ones ? Gumecinda, of course. She would pack her 
little bundle of herbs and remedies, muffle head and face 
in the voluminous cotton toalle (mantle) and ride away 
over the mountains, to stay till she was needed else- 
where. 

I remember the first time we went to the witch's house. 
Gumecinda was seated on a mat, doing drawn-work. I 
saw that she was barefooted and then — presto — she 
had on shoes. How she did it I never understood. 
She made us welcome without a sign of embarrassment. 
She placed the one chair and a box for us to sit on, 
and for want of another box, spread a mat on the door- 
step, chatting easily with us all the time. Her voice 
was low and musical, and if her speech was unlettered, 
we at least did n't know it. She entertained us easily, 
naturally, talking of things most likely to interest us. I 
was amazed at first and then forgot my surprise and ac- 
cepted it as a matter of course. 

From that day, Gumecinda never changed. If we 
wanted to hear the songs of the people, she sang for us. 
If we wanted to see their dances, she hunted up a part- 



348 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

ner, and with him went through the figures of the 
jarabe, her good, plain face radiant with the dehght of 
dancing, and the knowledge that she was pleasing others. 
She was always ready to help in a hundred ways, cook- 
ing, sewing, or in case of sickness ; yet she would never 
accept a cent of money. Gifts, yes — if her good friends 
wished, but not money. Unlettered, untaught, super- 
stitious she was, like the rest of her people; but with 
an innate dignity and goodness, that shone through and 
obliterated all else. Gumecinda's portrait is in the gal- 
lery, and it is hung in a good light. 

I can see Don Loreto now by just shutting my eyes. 
He lived in a place that had once been the center of a 
rich mining district; and his father, judging from the 
extent of the ruined hacienda with its fine orange 
orchard, must have been a man of no mean ability, 
Don Loreto was the funniest little body I ever met. 
The merest manikin in size, with small, regular features, 
quite an imposing mustache and chin-whisker, the littlest 
hands and feet, and short, fat legs, slightly bowed, that 
could never, under any circumstances, do more than wad- 
dle. Don Loreto spoke a little pigeon-English that he 
had acquired as a boy, in the days when the hacienda 
was in funds. When the weather permitted, he wore a 
superb cloak lined with old-gold plush, faced with red; 
and he would fling it over his shoulder with a telling 
sweep of the arm, extend one small soiled paw in the 
direction of the pueblo, and exclaim, " Oh, sir, you see 
all those people — they were once my father's servants ! " 
He invariably began with " Oh, sir ! " and ended with the 
rising inflection. He would add, that his father was a 
man, very powerful and much respected by his workmen. 
" When he held up one stick, all men fall down ! " said 
Don Loreto. I never understood what he meant, but 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 349 

always pictured the pueblo reverentially " deferring," 
like the populace in the " Mikado " at the approach of 
the Lord High Executioner. 

Don Loreto once applied to a friend of mine for a posi- 
tion; he offered to look after his interests in a mining 
prospect, which happened to be near his own 
hacienda. He was engaged on the spot and on taking 
his departure said in a high and rather theatrical voice: 
" Oh, sir, when I am in that country, you will tell me 
what I want ? " It was only a mistake of one word, 
the substitution of " I " for " you," but together with 
the high voice, the pompous manner, above all the funny 
little man himself, it was excruciating. 

I once went on a long journey with Don Loreto, and 
passed the night at his mother's house. She was a dear 
old lady and though I am sure she had received few, 
if any, foreigners before, I was warmly welcomed and 
showered with kind attentions. While on the road, Don 
Loreto did his utmost to be entertaining, and he scorned 
to speak any language but English. I was once riding 
with him and he called my attention to some little red 
berries, much like our " pigeon berries," as follows : — 
" Oh, sir, do you see these little f ru-its ? These are too 
kind, these are too beautiful? All the ladies, when 
they see, will like to take a walk to pluck." Don Loreto 
had an uncle Juan, who was " too brave " and a very 
good shot. He was riding along with him one day, 
chatting pleasantly, when he suddenly saw a huge animal, 
coming down the mountain and making directly for 
them. He called his uncle Juan's attention to it, who 
said, "Oh, Loreto, that is one oso (bear). Excuse me 
one moment! I will kill it." 

We got to know Don Loreto very well and to value 
him accordingly. His motto was, " Always kind with 



350 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

all people," and he lived up to it. He had a good- 
for-nothing younger brother who seemed to embody the 
not inconsiderable ability and likewise all the badness 
of his line. He lived off the proceeds of the little man's 
labors and was ungrateful besides. We often counseled 
Don Loreto to set him adrift, but though he admitted 
the justice of it, he never did it. He was a happy-go- 
lucky soul, always looking for better days and eager as 
a child for amusement. When Christmas arrived and 
he heard of the doings in our tierra, with trees, stock- 
ings and what not, he was enchanted. The stocking part 
seemed especially to captivate him, and on Christmas 
morning he was invited in to take eggnog, and then led to 
the fireplace, where a long stocking hung, filled to the top, 
for him. He was as tickled as a youngster, and for the 
moment half inclined to believe in our strange santo. 
He would not take out a thing, but trotted away as 
fast as his fat legs would carry him, to open in the 
privacy of his own home and in the presence of his 
wife — his first Christmas stocking. 

Years passed and though we often talked of Don 
Loreto, we never saw him until one day he appeared at 
the camp, riding a little podgy white mule, and attended 
by the bad but quite imposing brother. It is needless 
to say that Don Loreto was wined and dined and made 
much of. When dinner was over, he leaned back com- 
placently and turning to his hostess said, " Oh, misses, 
we talk now of many things, but not of Christmas and 
the stocking." It was all so natural, the high voice, the 
rising inflection and all, that we laughed till we cried, 
and Don Loreto laughed with us, a trifle mystified, but 
delighted because we were. Then after many ahrazos 
he mounted and rode away, the bad brother in the lead. 
I can see him now, bumping along on his queer little 




American mine-owners 




The camp mascots 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 353 

mule, his face hidden by the enormous sombrero, his 
fat legs encased in very shiny leggings, and his gorgeous 
cape blowing out behind, " always kind with all people." 

I once knew a mozo whose name was Jesus, and I re- 
fused to temporize by calling him either Juan or Jose. 
Just pronounce it " Haysoos," with the accent on the last 
syllable, and it will sound all right. Jesus was hotel 
mozo, and I met him about two minutes after my arrival 
when he brought my luggage upstairs, filled the water 
pitcher, and complimented my foresight in taking a 
room at the back of the house, with such a fine view. 
The landlord came and begged me to have a room on 
the street, with an interesting outlook on the white walls 
of the house opposite, and at double the price; but I 
politely refused to change and Jesus understood. I in- 
quired if he took care of the rooms and learning that he 
did, made a careful survey of him, to determine into 
what sort of hands I and my belongings had fallen. I 
find it a good way to make up my mind regarding 
mozos on the start, and ever after be perfectly easy re- 
garding my possessions, or else lock them up. 

My summing up of Jesus was satisfactory, though he 
was a decided innovation in types. His skin was swarthy 
like an Indian's, but he had blue eyes, a shock of light 
brown hair and a broad, jolly countenance. He was 
short and stubby and his thick muscular legs seemed 
to have been literally melted and poured into the tight 
charro trousers. I speculated a good deal' as to how he 
got in and out of those trousers, for his feet were large 
and substantial and did not look as though they would 
go through. I learned, however, that at night he merely 
lay down on the floor of the saguan and covered himself 
with his zarape. 

After deciding that Jesus was trustworthy, I con- 



354 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

suited him as to the advisability of leaving my room open 
at all times, for the entrance of sunlight, fresh air and 
the greater convenience of us both. I remarked that I 
liked it better so and that, of course, my things would be 
perfectly safe. Jesus, who could not say a word with- 
out acting it out, touched each eye with his forefinger, 
swept the room at a glance and said, " Don't worry." 
This understanding placed us at once on a confidential 
footing; and Jesus constituted himself not only general 
caretaker of my room, but master-of-the-wardrobe and 
body-servant in the bargain : at times his attentions were 
a bit overpowering. When I came in from riding he 
flew at me and had my spurs off before I was out of 
the saddle. He then followed me to my room, drew off 
my boots, brought another pair and seemed positively 
pained when I insisted on lacing them myself. If I 
went to wash my hands, he stood by with pitcher in one 
hand and towel in the other. This last performance 
always struck me as ridiculous but I concluded he had 
been valet for some luxurious and helpless individual 
who had exacted it. I finally asked him whose servant 
he had been, at which he informed me that he was a 
carpenter by trade and had never been servant to any- 
body. He had worked on the hotel, during its con- 
struction, at a wage of fifty cents daily; and then had 
stayed on as mozo, at " quien sabe que sueldo!" (who 
knows what pay!). This financial uncertainty didn't 
seem to worry him a particle. In fact I 'm not sure that 
it did n't add to his contentment. As to his marked ac- 
complishments in the serving line, I concluded they must 
be the result of his own genius. 

I used to watch Jesus about his work, singing at the 
top of his lungs, and tried to take lessons in the art of 
being happy. I came to the conclusion that it consisted 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 355 

mainly in having few wants. Jesus had enough to eat 
and a bed on the stone pavement in the zaguan. He 
owned a fairly good hat, a fine pink shirt with red lac- 
ings, a zarape and the irremovable trousers. What was 
there to wish for? 

I found that of all my possessions, he regarded my 
camera with the greatest admiration ; and when I worked 
with my pictures he hovered about me like a shadow. 
He was specially pleased with a photograph of the church, 
and as I found he was quite devout, I resolved to give 
him one. I had several laid aside with other photo- 
graphs, but when the day came to continue my journey 
and I looked for them, there was not one to be found. 
I searched high and low without success, and then sud- 
denly my mind reverted to Jesus and his excessive 
admiration for the pictures. I hated myself for har- 
boring a suspicion of his honesty; and resolutely put 
the thought away. Still I wondered about the pictures, 
and at last caught myself endeavoring to condone the 
offense, telling myself that the poor fellow knew no 
better, and that in his fondness for the church he had 
innocently appropriated one; perhaps it was for his 
novia. But there were several pictures and what could 
he want with so many? At last I started to unpack my 
trunk and make a last thorough search, and safely tucked 
away, in a most improbable corner, were the pictures, 
put there by my own hand in a fit of abstraction. I felt 
small enough and when Jesus appeared, with his usually 
beaming countenance a trifle serious, on account of my 
departure, I felt tempted to beg his pardon. On second 
thought I refrained, and presented him with several 
packages of cigarettes. When he had corded up my 
trunk for the second time that morning, he came and 
stood by my chair and humbly asked if I would do him 



356 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

the favor to give him a fotografia of the church, as a 
remembrance. For reply, I handed him one of each 
photograph I had made in his tierra. Then as he stood 
radiant, expressing his gracias in the voluble way of 
his people, somehow a portrait of Jesus found its way 
into the gallery. I am glad it is there and the experi- 
ence it recalls has taught me a lesson. 

One night, while wandering at dusk, I found myself in 
what we familiarly term a blind alley. I think the 
Spanish word rinconada means the same thing. I was 
turning to go back, when a girl began singing in a house 
at the end of the street. Her voice was strong and pure, 
and she sang as though her whole heart was in the 
song : " Blanquisima paloma, consuelo de las almas — " 
which means, " Whitest of doves, consolation of souls." 
Then she stopped. I waited, wishing she would go on, 
and presently she sang the same words over, with an 
added line I did not understand, and then stopped again. 
I judged that she was at her work, sewing likely, and 
fancied her bending over it in the intervals. I was 
thinking what a pity it was women's voices were never 
heard in the churches, when she took up the song again, 
and this time went through several phrases without 
stopping. I waited a long time for more, but there 
was not another note. People were passing back and 
forth, entering and leaving other doors, but no one paid 
the slightest attention to the mysterious house from 
whence issued the lovely voice. I began to grow im- 
patient and besides to feel an overwhelming desire to 
see the singer. There was a bright light in the room 
and the window was shaded by a half-curtain of coarse 
white muslin. I was sure the voice was just back of 
that curtain and I began to edge closer. All at once she 
sang again, this time with deeper fervor, as though she 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 357 

loved and believed the words, '' Blanquisima paloma, con- 
suelo de las almas — ." " Now," thought I, " she will 
sing it all ; " but instead of waiting, content with the 
song, I kept on till I reached the windov/. How she 
knew I was there, I never understood. She was sewing 
and she did not lift her eyes. She could not have seen 
me in any event, as it was quite dark outside. Still I 
knew, from the look that came over her face, she would 
not sing any more. She was a girl of the middle class. 
I shall not try to describe her, as I don't think such 
descriptions ever amount to much. I know she had on 
a black dress, that her face was pale but very beautiful, 
and that she looked good. I stole away from the window 
and waited for the song to go on ; but it never did, and 
I finally walked away thoroughly vexed with myself for 
not letting well enough alone, which nobody ever does. 



CHAPTER XIV 

A Mountain Flood: Swimming the Arroyo: Dangers of 
Mountain Travel: Arrival of the Mail: The Life of Don 
Bias : The Silent Horseman : A Night at " Pig Gulch " ; 
Electrical Storm in the Mountains: A Dream City: It's a 
Long Ride that has no End. 

ALL the mining men in the San Dimas district 
were longing for rain. The mills are run by- 
water-power; and as the creeks were very low, 
there was immediate prospect of shutting down for 
lack of water, which means a daily loss of thousands of 
dollars. It threatened to rain every night with the 
usual warnings of heavy, black clouds and a ring around 
the moon, which had a greenish-yellow look, but still 
the rain held off. Every morning big clouds floated on 
the horizon and the sun broke through with difficulty. 
Sometimes there was a mackerel sky, and then Isidro, 
who always talked by signs, would cock his eye heaven- 
ward, nod mysteriously, and holding his hand, palm 
downward, wriggle his fingers in a way to suggest fall- 
ing water : still it did n't rain. Every evening at sun- 
set, when the wind blew up the canon, hurling clouds of 
sand and dead leaves right and left, we said, " It will 
certainly rain to-night ! " and then the night would come 
soft and clear, with a starlit sky. February is late for 
heavy rains and the miners began to despair. They 
found some comfort telling me how the flood had acted 
in previous years ; how the waters roared till they 
could n't hear each other's voices, hurling great logs 

358 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 359 

along with the speed of a mill-race, tumbling immense 
boulders down stream like so many pebbles and shutting 
off communications with the other camps for weeks. 
The little San Dimas arroyo was a raging torrent, and the 
river, with which it unites just below the hacienda, an 
angry sea. The placid chare 0, where we went swim- 
ming, became a lake, with a forty foot dive off the rocks, 
and catfish galore for the mere casting a line. Then 
they added consolingly, that although I had missed it, I 
should doubtless see it all another time. 

The wind had been hot and dry all day, and there were 
more sand and dead leaves than usual in consequence. 
We had become used to disappointment and though the 
skies were dubious, we only said in disgusted tones, " But 
it won't rain ! " At nightfall it began to sprinkle in a 
half-hearted way, and those who knew the signs said it 
meant a storm ; but I remained skeptical and went to 
bed without giving it a second thought. Once or twice 
I woke in the night and heard the rain striking the corru- 
gated iron overhead, but even then I did n't realize what 
it really meant. My morning doze was broken into by 
a great banging on the window shutters, and amid the 
deafening roar of the waters I heard a voice shouting, 
" Get up and see the flood." I flung the shutters open 
and, though it was barely light, I could see that the 
arroyo, which the day before I had crossed on stepping 
stones, at most ten feet wi'de, had been transformed in a 
night into a mighty river, filling the bottom of the im- 
mense canon, which at that point was nearly two hundred 
feet wide. The water was running easily fifteen miles 
an hour and I could hear the constant bumping and feel 
the jar of the big rocks as they were dashed against the 
foundations of the hacienda. 

As it grew lighter, we saw the river, which was 



36o THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

grandly beautiful, with trunks of immense trees rid- 
ing its billows. A steady drizzle was still falling, but 
the delights of such a day, coming after a long spell 
of hot dry weather, were not to be withstood. 
Everybody cautioned everybody else to beware of 
calentura (fever) which was prevalent in those parts, 
but no one stayed indoors. First there were all the 
animals to be visited. The mules were huddled together 
in a sad group under the fodder-stack, and the cow 
stood gazing dejectedly at her offspring, who, though 
safe under cover, was bawling frantically. Even the 
pig's monologue had assumed a cynical tone: the roost- 
ers were trailing their bedraggled tail-feathers, and 
the doves, who had persistently shunned their com- 
fortable little houses, preferring to roost on the ridge- 
pole and coquette with the stars, were so benumbed 
from the wet and cold, they could scarcely fly or even 
walk without pitching over. Many an unfortunate 
found his way to that refuge for feathered invalids — the 
kitchen. The dogs had the best of it for while they 
were supposed to be on guard at night, I was sure some 
of the peones, who were fond of them, had harbored 
them during the worst of it. They were jubilant in 
consequence leaping upon us with their muddy paws. 
And the pet burro, whose name was " Johnny," did 
what he could, braying dismally all day at ten-minute 
intervals, in tones that sounded more than ever in need 
of scraping and oiling. 

The mines were on the opposite side of the arroyo 
from the town, and the workmen were shut off from 
their supply of tortillas and beans. There was no way 
to get food across the river, and I doubt if the women 
would have found time to cook in any event, they were 
so taken up watching the flood. The men refused to 




The singer 




Dona Marciana on the trail 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 363 

work on empty stomachs and besides they wanted to 
see the flood too, so they came trooping down from the 
mines. By noon they were ranged up in hnes on the op- 
posite banks, the women on one side, the men on the 
other. It is on such occasions the sign-language demon- 
strates its superiority over all others. In spite of the 
noise of the water, those Indians talked across the ar- 
royo. I imagine the gist of what was said resolved it- 
self into " I 'm hungry ! " on one side and " Come and 
get your dinner then ! " on the other. At last a venture- 
some young peon decided to make the attempt. It was 
an exciting moment as he stripped off his loose cotton 
clothing, and stood, slender and dark, on the edge of 
the torrent. He leaped in and tried at first to wade 
but the current swept him from his feet and he dis- 
appeared. Where was he? Would he be dashed on 
the rocks? No, there he was swimming down stream, 
his dark head just showing above the foam. He landed 
fifty yards below and made for the town, where a pair 
of brown hands was already patting tortillas against 
his coming. One quality is never at a discount, be the 
owner high or low ; it is courage and that peon boy had 
it. By night, the water had gone down sufficiently for 
wading, and the men were crossing in droves, carrying 
their clothing on their heads. Some of the weaker ones 
were afraid to try it, as the current was still tremendous 
and the water came to the arm-pits; and these, the 
stouter ones carried over on their shoulders. 

I was prepared for a change the next morning, but not 
for the one I saw. From a river, close on to two hun- 
dred feet wide, the arroyo had subsided into a trifle 
over its usual width; but with an added volume and 
velocity that suggested sufficient reserve to last a long 

time. The water was ice-cold and we hoped that it 
18 



364 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

came from melting snow, which would assure its con- 
tinuance. 

The havoc that a small and apparently inoffensive 
mountain stream can create in a night, aided and abetted 
by the innumerable smaller ones that are its tributaries, 
is incalculable. Every rill contributes its mite and the 
united water of hundreds of rills soon constitutes an 
irresistible torrent. Woe to the unlucky mill owner, 
whose works happen to come within the danger line. 
A few years ago, this same arroyo carried away an en- 
tire pipe-line and its bed is still strewn, half-way to 
the coast, with sections of iron pipe : while a huge boiler, 
four feet in diameter and sixteen feet long, was whisked 
away like a stick of wood. After a long and fruitless 
search, the owners concluded it had gone out to sea; 
but several years later, the water uncovered it where it 
lay embedded in the sand, over three miles down the 
arroyo. The precept for mill owners would seem to 
be, " roost high ! " 

While a mountain flood frequently subsides as quickly 
as it came, its havoc makes travel dangerous for weeks 
afterward. As a result of the present flood, our mail 
was delayed for two weeks, and the waiting seemed 
interminable. I have known tense moments, but none 
that surpasses the arrival of the mail in lonely places, 
which for weeks have been Isolated from the rest of the 
world by the floods: shut off by the impassable moun- 
tains. It is then the mountains dominate us and silence 
our pretentiousness. Like the ocean, they are immutable 
and relentless. We know that though every human 
tie we possess is calling. It cannot reach us, for it is 
death to attempt to cross the mountains in time of flood. 
At last the mail arrived, carried by a mozo on mule- 
back, and Dofia Marciana, after giving him a quart 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 365 

of hot coffee, assorted and distributed the letters as was 
her custom. I recognized the writing of a New York 
friend, with the postmark " Mexico City." In his letter 
he said that he had sailed from New York four weeks 
since, having decided to pay me a visit, and that he was 
then in Mexico City. He hoped I would return there 
at once or send for him. I consulted my friends, but 
they said it was out of the question; for only the most 
intrepid and experienced mozos could get through 
alive. Again I felt the thrall of the mountains. But 
we chafe under the limitations imposed by nature, and 
I began to long for Mexico City and felt impelled 
to return there, — the more so on account of my friend's 
visit. 

I have found that the success of an undertaking, what- 
ever the obstacles may be, is furthered by the deliberate 
beginning of preparations ; and though my friends were 
doubtful as to how soon I could safely begin my journey, 
I engaged a mozo and pack-animals and began to get my 
outfit in shape. I was scarcely ready when, the weather 
having changed abruptly, the mail mozo assured me the 
trails were passable and the streams low enough for 
crossing. It had been decided that I should ride Don 
Alfredo's mule, " Queen " ; and while I hesitated to ac- 
cept his kind offer, the prospect of four days astride such 
an excellent saddle-animal was irresistible. In the 
mountains, the loan of a man's rifle or of his mule is the 
test of unselfish friendship. This mule was gaited like 
a horse, with a fast trot and an easy gallop; and as the 
mozo was well-mounted, I hoped to make Durango in 
four days, which was record time. Our first day's ride 
should take us to the rancho San Miguel, and it was 
my intention to sleep there. 

The ascent to the summit took the entire forenoon, 



366 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

and after a hurried lunch and brief rest for the mules, 
I pushed on over the level mesa, in the direction of the 
rancho. At sundown we were still in the pines, and 
my mozo wanted to go into camp, but I had several 
reasons for wishing to sleep at the rancho. First, it 
meant that we had covered the distance allotted for a 
good day's riding: and second, I had heard the praises 
of Don Bias, the brother of Don Luis, from my friends 
in the mines, and I was determined to meet him and 
make his acquaintance. The dusk that had pervaded the 
pine forest was now dispelled by the moon, and after 
two hours' fast riding wc reached the rancho, and to 
my satisfaction Don Bias himself came out to welcome 
me, and to place his house at my disposal. Don Luis 
and the other members of the family were grouped 
around a big fire in the yard, with their zarapes about 
them; but Don Bias was in his shirt-sleeves, his ruddy 
face and portly figure seeming to set at naught the nip- 
ping night air. I was glad to go to the fire and when 
the saddles were off the animals I told the mozo to get 
supper, but Don Bias had other plans. He said that I 
must partake of tantitos frijoles (a few beans) with him; 
so we went into the cozy little dining-room where the 
table was laid for two. The supper consisted of de- 
licious frijoles, flaky tortillas and coffee. My provi- 
sion box was crammed with good things, but something 
in the port of Don Bias told me that to suggest opening 
it would be as ill-timed, as it would were I supping 
with the President. Don Bias had some of the good 
things later, but they were offered with due reference to 
form. I found that my estimate of Don Bias was right 
when we came to settle accounts. Not one cent would 
he take except for the corn, which he really had for 
sale. His " No, sehor " meant " No." Of course there 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 367 

is a " No," that really means " Yes " ; but the " No " 
of Don Bias was not of this breed. 

Before the evening was over, he told me his history. 
He was the oldest of a large family. His mother died in 
child-birth, but her sister came to mother the family, and 
in those days there was plenty of money, his father own- 
ing a large rancho stocked with sheep and cattle, and a 
silver mine. Then the father died. The property was 
left in charge of a near male relative, who, after the man- 
ner often peculiar to male relatives, proceeded to appro- 
priate it entirely to his own ends. The good aunt, with 
her brood of orphans, found herself penniless and natu- 
rally turned to Don Bias, who was then fourteen years old. 
His one accomplishment was playing the harp, and when 
the people found he would play for money he was sum- 
moned from far and near, to make music for dances. " I 
always played with great gusto, but when they got drunk, 
it frightened me, and I hid among the women," he said. 
Music brought but little money and Don Bias tried his 
hand as baker, cook, and store boy, while the good aunt 
took in sewing and washing and together they kept the 
wolf from the door. Finally his love of the mountains 
and an out-of-door life led him to become an arriero or 
freighter; and he now owned his own mules and outfit, 
and the little rancho where he enjoyed life when not on 
the road. 

I asked Don Bias why he had never married. He 
said he had always been too busy, first taking care 
of his young brothers and sisters, and later of their 
children. The rancho was then overrun with small 
nieces and nephews and judging from the resounding 
smacks I heard him giving them, when they came to say, 
" May you pass a good night ! " they were like his own 
children to him. " I have always been content in seek- 



368 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

ing a living," said Don Bias. I fancied his contentment 
was mainly due to the fact that he was living for those 
rosy-cheeked youngsters who were forever hanging about 
him. In nearly every family, there is one who far out- 
strips the others in gaining this world's goods; but I 
believe it is rare in other countries for the successful one 
to take upon himself the care of his entire family, as so 
often is the case in Mexico. 

We were in the pine woods the greater part of the next 
day, and our progress was slow owing to the bad con- 
dition of the trail, and the great number of fallen trees, 
which often lay in our path, compelling us to ride around 
them. The streams were deep and care was necessary 
to cross them safely. Throughout this journey, the 
mule, " Queen," showed rare intelligence. Though 
nervous and easily excited, she was gentle and kind. 
As is usual with thoroughbreds, her skin was delicate, 
and I found the saddle was chafing her — or rather she 
informed me, by rubbing her nose against my leg. I 
got off and shifted the saddle, and from that time, when- 
ever her back hurt her, she gave me notice in the same 
way; yet gently and with the utmost patience. 

That night we camped in the valley, and while the 
mozo was cooking supper, I bathed Queen's back and 
rubbed it with liniment. As I was eating my supper, a 
young peon appeared from out of the darkness, and 
taking off his hat, asked if he might sleep by the fire 
and then walk with us to Durango, saying he would help 
with the mules. He was a gentle little lad, and my mozo 
was pleased to have a companion. After they had eaten 
supper, they began singing. They came from the same 
part of the mountains, it seemed, and sang the same 
songs. I soon fell asleep, lulled by their soft agreeable 
voices. 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 371 

When we started, the following morning, I feared the 
boy would not keep up, but he was light and swift as a 
deer. Sometimes he would vanish and I feared he had 
given out; but to my surprise he would be waiting for 
us ahead on the trail. This he managed by crossing the 
ridges, where the trail went around them ; and this 
method of travel is common among the Indians when 
on foot. 

I was riding across a beautiful piece of meadowland, 
when from the pines that skirted it, a man on a white 
horse emerged and rode toward me, his horse's hoofs 
making no sound as he glided over the springy turf — 
a silent horseman from out the silence. As he came 
near I recognized Gregorio, who was one of our most 
faithful miners in the old Huahuapan district. We had 
not met for more than a year, and of the two, I was the 
more moved by our meeting. Riding beside me, he lifted 
his hat, gave me his hand, and made inquiries for Don 
Alfredo, Dona Marciana, and Gumecinda. Then he 
asked when he should have the pleasure of seeing us 
" there," — meaning Huahuapan. I recovered my man- 
ners sufficiently to say that I hoped it might be soon, and 
after shaking hands again, he gravely lifted his hat, and 
rode silently and swiftly away. I have often wondered 
at the serene poise of these people; I think they have 
become imbued with the calm of their own mountains. 
I doubt not if Gregorio and I meet in ten years, for 
any demonstration on his part the interval will seem as 
a day. 

My last night in the mountains was spent in an inter- 
esting spot called Charco Puerco (Pig Charco), its one 
redeeming feature being that it was near Durango. It 
had rained in the afternoon, and though the sky was clear 
when I turned in, the wind was blowing a gale, which 



372 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

grew more violent as the night went on. I had heard all 
along the road of the recent hurricanes and had never 
before seen so many fallen trees. When I finally fell 
asleep, the pines overhead were lashing about like whip- 
cords. I awoke at one o'clock. The sky was black 
with clouds, the wind had subsided and it was beginning 
to rain. At two I called the mozo. Meantime it had 
begun to thunder and lighten and by the time the pack- 
mules were loaded, there was a sharp electric storm un- 
der way. Streaks of fire were darting across the sky, 
the thunder was pealing on all sides, and the rain fell 
in sheets. I was again anxious about the young peon, 
but he was as cheerful as possible, and trotted along beside 
the mozo's mule. I had them take the lead with the 
pack-mules, and though I could only see them when it 
lightened, I heard the steady splash of the mules' feet 
as they jogged along the muddy trail. I hoped the 
weather would change for the better at daybreak; but 
it grew cold and the rain turned to hail. It evidently 
hurt the mules and they refused to go, except under 
liberal persuasion. The ground was soon white and 
from that time, for nine hours, it rained and hailed 
alternately, with the most glorious electric storm I ever 
experienced, and with dazzling bursts of sunshine in 
between, that lasted at most ten minutes at a time. 
Then great masses of clouds would dart up from the 
horizon, the sky would grow black in the twinkling of 
an eye, and the storm would begin again. 

I passed a burro train laden with heavy timbers. The 
Indian boy who was driving them was a sorry looking 
object, but as I came up to him, I heard the familiar 
strains of " La Paloma " and found he was playing a 
mouth-organ. He was covered with mud and the water 
was running off his soaked sombrero upon his more 



THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 373 

soaked zarape, but if facial expression meant anything, 
he was perfectly happy. 

The first glimpse of Durango, as I approached it from 
the mountains, was wonderful. I was riding across an 
extensive mesa, thinking of nothing in particular, when 
suddenly I saw it, lying away off over the tops of the 
intervening mountains, veiled in ethereal blue like a 
mirage, a dream city. This time, though I was riding in 
the rain, the sun was shining on the cathedral towers, 
and the city seemed to rest on the clouds, which were 
piled below it and all about it. It was my promised land, 
yet near as it seemed, it was still a good four hours' 
ride away. " Queen " saw it as quickly as I did. She 
was a Durango mule, but had not seen her native soil 
for three years. She was dead tired, but in the same 
instant that I discerned the city, she pointed her ears 
inquisitively, and struck into a smart trot. When we 
lost sight of it, she lagged, but on a second glimpse, up 
went her ears and off she trotted. When she was 
bought in Durango, she had for stable mate a white 
horse, and mules are fond of horses. When we struck 
the highway, leading into the city, we found it heavy 
from the rain, and I vowed I would not touch her with 
the spur if she walked all the way to Durango. Sud- 
denly a Mexican passed me at a gallop on a white horse. 
She pricked up her ears, whinnied, and started ofif at a 
lively trot again, never quitting it till we entered the city. 

It is a long ride that has no ending. This one had 
meant fourteen hours in the saddle without a halt; but 
presently I found myself before the hotel, with the 
amiable mozo, Leon, grinning in the zaguan. With his 
kindly assistance I was soon in bed, and after a bite to 
eat and an alcohol rub, I fell asleep, to wake the next 
morning " as fit as a fiddle." After settling accounts 



374 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 

with the mozo, I went to the corral to take leave of 
" Queen," who was to return with him to the mines. 
The other mules had freight to carry home, but " Queen " 
would frolic along the trail without so much as the 
weight of a saddle. She received my farewell caress 
pleasantly, and when I called her " Queen of Durango 
Mules," did not demur. 

That night, when I took train for Mexico City, it was 
with a feeling of contentment. I already anticipated 
anew the pleasant life of the capital. But underlying 
all, for future solace, was the thought of my late journey, 
— of other journeys, however distant, over Mexico's 
illimitable mountains. 

Two ties unite my heart to Mexico — first, love of 
friends ; last and always, her mountains. 

Rough-piled, far-flung, unending, range on range; 
And still beyond all wrapped in purple mist, 
Are mountains dimly beckoning. . . . 



THE END 


































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